Enemy of My Enemy
by Sunflowered
Summary: When Hermione inadvertantly saves Draco's life, they become accidental cohorts fighting a murderous plot. But, when Hermione's help lands her in grave danger, will the extent of Malfoy's selfishness surprise us all?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: The works of J.K Rowling, including Harry Potter and its characters, are extremely, absolutely, very-much-so, NOT mine in any way. Sigh._

_Thanks for reading! _

The rookery was freezing.

The owls were especially busy this evening, on and about their business of last-minute deliveries to be made and delicious mice to be found. The sound of the birds flying in and out of the windows whistled shrilly against an icy wind, and wings cutting to and fro cast shadows like steel hooks against the stone.

It was almost Christmas, and everywhere you turned at Hogwarts the air bustled with festivity and a stifling cheer. This winter's night the tables in the great hall were heavy laden with presents and food, and all the students were happily feasting. It was all much too much for Draco Malfoy. He'd snuck away from the Slytherin table, using the opportune moment when Dumbledore enchanted thousands of silver ribbons and sugared candies into an amazing aerial dance. All eyes were glued to the incredible display or distracted by the delectable curdled cream cakes, and the mouth-watering way the plumberry frosting kept changing from red to green.

Draco hadn't known exactly where he was going as he walked across the bleak courtyard, tossing his green knit scarf over his shoulder and burying his frown in its warmth. He hunched into the chill and forced himself to like it, exposing only his sleek ice-blonde hair and cold blue eyes to the elements. As he walked out of the stone gating to the outer path leading to the rookery, the snow struck up a wild dance all around him. Still, he trudged on in the blizzard, feeling more and more strangely good about the decision to take a walk. Funny, that he'd enjoy that cold and desolation so much more than all the cozy warmth and merriment his fellow students were enjoying.

Now, standing in that tower and looking out into the storm while the owls swarmed around him, he felt exactly the same as he had in the great hall. Lonely. Desperately lonely.

Draco shook his shoulders resolutely. He wouldn't move. He'd let the cold freeze the feeling right out of his chest. He'd do what his father would want him to do and stand there and suffer until all the hurt hardened into stone.

A yellow flash caught in his peripheral vision and he turned on his heel. Nothing. Just empty nests and bluish twilight.

But, then again. A yellow light flickered on his other side. He turned and backed away at the same time; the urge to flee to the entrance building up inside him. But, there was nothing and he stayed, looking around him and panting in heavy, foggy breaths.

"Draaaco," a moan sounded on the wind.

"Who's there?" He demanded, imperious. He hated the sound that squeaked at the edge of his voice. The sound his father often beat out of him. The sound of his fear.

"Draco!"

He pivoted around at the shout from right behind his left ear. A yellow cylinder of light floated mid-air only a few feet from his face, shimmering so brightly it made him squint.

It was a Soundspecter, Draco realized once his eyes adjusted. He was a seventh year and no fool, after all. Still, he was startled. Once a Soundspecter was conjured, it was impossible to trace the origin of the message and impossible to prevent the message from being delivered. Only powerful wizards used them, and only for very important reasons.

"Draco. It's all right, son. I called to you. You know me, do you not?"

Draco swallowed. That raspy, hissing voice. He knew it. He'd heard his father conversing with such a voice, wearing dark black robes and a skull mask.

Voldemort. The Dark Lord.

"I know who you are, yes." He whispered, and the storm howled outside as if to sound warning.

"Good boy. You are a smart boy. Smarter than your father, I think."

Again, Draco gulped.

"Tell me. Do you know what the ultimate sacrifice a servant can make for his master is...?"

"No, sir." Was it right to call him "sir," he wondered? Why was Voldemort seeking _him_? His father never fully let him in on his secrets as a Death Eater. Why hadn't Father warned him about this?

"Well, it isn't his life. Any fool can give his life for a greater cause he believes in. Laying down your _own_ life isn't that difficult a personal choice to make. You see, my son?"

"Yes…yes, sir."

"The ultimate sacrifice is a greater thing, a greater gift by far."

Outside, the wind screamed.

"That is…the sacrifice of something you cherish more than yourself. The sacrifice of someone you love."

Draco wanted to turn and run, run back down the snowy path, and run right back into that safe, feasting hall.

"The sacrifice, say," the voice crackled like it was laughing, the yellow light twinkled with a sinister sparkle. "Of your only son."

Draco's body told him to run, but it was too late. A blinding light struck up all around him, burning upon burning like being thrust into the center of some star.

"Father!" He thought, and his world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: The works of J.K Rowling, including Harry Potter and its characters, are extremely, absolutely, very-much-so, NOT mine in any way. Sigh._

There's nothing like Christmas. Hermione was happy, she had to admit it. Even though the festivities cut deeply into her studies, she was pleased to be sitting in the main hall, surrounded by smiling friends.

Ron was hurriedly explaining to Harry about the holiday adventures the Weasley's had in mind for the next few days, and by the look on Harry's face, he was wondering what sort of mess he'd gotten himself into by pledging to spend winter vacation with Ron.

"…But the Finninflannin Ice Festival is a pissfest of boring, so I told Mum and Dad we'd mainly be wandering the pubs for witches without," The redhead smiled ear to ear, "Christmas company."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys.

"I'll be sure to hang a little Mistletoe from my wand." Harry said with a sly wink. He may be the best wizard of his age, but he was still a seventeen year old male.

"You two should be ashamed!" She teased, pointing at her best friends in mock-outrage.

"Oh, don't worry, my pet. I'll save a few kisses for you!" Ron puckered and leaned over to her as Harry doubled over laughing. She shoved him in a playful fury, but felt her cheeks actually warm in a real blush. Ron and Harry and she had kept their friendship platonic all their years at Hogwarts, but she often felt sexual and romantic tension threatening to blossom with either of them at random moments. There seemed to be some unspoken rule that they just remain friends, some special and sacred bond that their experiences had forged between them that was too important to risk on silly romances.

Ron and Harry went on with their breathless planning, but Hermione sat thoughtful, no longer listening. Maybe it was having such a strong and famous friendship with Ron and Harry, or maybe it was having such an incredible aptitude for witchcraft that set her apart, but she had a reputation for being independent. A loner. Nose in a book or poked in the middle of one of Harry Potter's infamous adventures. It didn't leave much elbow room for the everyday flirtations of a girl her age. Still, never mind that! As if she'd have time, what with all her academic plans…

Time! Drat it all! She completely forgot! She'd planned on timing it after her last class to get a message out to her parents. She had to delay her homecoming so she could help Madam Poultice with a brand new healing potion. If she didn't remind them, they'd leave without her to Aunt Alice's summer home for the holidays. Bogslime!

Above their heads, the sky burst into snow clouds which erupted into a tempest of Christmas ribbons and candy. She smiled out of the side of her pretty mouth. A little treat from Dumbledore as the plumberry cakes were being served. Everyone around her was either watching the visual symphony above, or drooling at the curdled cream cakes blinking from red to green. It was a perfect time to slip away, she thought. A glance to Ron and Harry told her they wouldn't even notice her absence, especially not so long as Ron's endless commentary about the last Quiddich World Cup lasted. She watched the show for a moment longer, then sighed and rose from her comfortable seat.

When she got outside the bitter cold needled her like a sewing spell. She pulled her coat around her tightly, and lowered her chin, bearing down into the whirling storm. She noticed fresh footprints, wondering momentarily what other idiot would venture out in this misery.

As she rounded the courtyard to the outer path, the tower of the owl nests came into view and with it a strange sight. The rookery was glowing with a piercing yellow light.

"What on earth?" She said aloud, stopping in the snow and looking harder. Was the stormy weather tricking her?

The light flickered and moved more than lamplight would, and had an eerier glare the more she watched it. She trudged on, her natural curiosity taking precedence as it typically did. Besides, she was headed for the rookery, anyway. She had to find an owl for her message to her parents.

When she reached the stairs, she heard voices and the light flashed into an uncomfortable brilliance. She threw her forearm over her eyes. What the…?

Through the light and the whipping of the wind, a soft scream sounded from above her. Someone was in pain! She ran the rest of the heights, her lungs catching fire in the frozen air. At the top, it was too blinding to know what was even in the room. She crashed through the brilliance to its center, where a faint shadow barely outlined a person--a person clearly in pain. As she rushed inside, the person's body crumpled before her eyes. Just as she reached him, the light around her shattered into pieces and dissipated. Dying on the wind was a cruel laughter coming from nowhere and all around at once. Her instinct alone reached out to catch the young man as he fell. They both toppled, but Hermione threw herself beneath him, awkwardly attempting to break his fall. She succeeded only in cushioning the back of his head, which lay cradled in her lap now as she sat up.

The rookery had returned to normal light. Or dark, as it happened to be. It was freezing and the owls were finally beginning their nesting and perching, fluffing their feathers at the shoulder and returning her confused glance with their wide, round stares. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the slightest. What on earth had that light been, she wondered? Had a spell gone wrong?

She looked down at her lap and all of the questions drained out of her in one, paralyzing instant. There before her, unconscious and perfectly still but for the ragged heaving of his chest, was Draco Malfoy. Her enemy.

Her mouth fell open. Sleeping, he seemed so harmless. His face wasn't contorted into its usual sneer; the smooth, pale skin and marble-carved features looked gentle for once, even enticing. She'd never seen him like this. He looked peaceful and beautiful. Hermione gaped at him like a fish. Beautiful? Where had _that_ thought come from?

Ok. Now what? She couldn't just leave him. In fact, he could be badly hurt. Her previous errand forgotten, she shifted and fished her wand out from her coat pocket. From her other pocket, she scrounged out some loose change. Hmm. It would have to do, she supposed. She whispered some words at the coins and they leapt into the air, flattening out into thin, metallic pancakes. She flicked her wrist, writing in the air as golden letters inscribed themselves magically on the coins. Then, like enchanted Frisbees, they flew every direction out of the tower; on their way to the first professor they saw.

As she waited for some help to arrive, she tried to ignore the knots gathering in her stomach. Malfoy wouldn't care an owl pellet for her were the tables turned, and she wondered if it was wise to help him. What would Harry and Ron say? Maybe, she suddenly hoped, he would remain unconscious, and she could just turn him over to a professor and be done with the mess.

Almost like an ironic answer, Malfoy stirred. He moaned and turned his nose to nuzzle at her belly button. Her hands flew into the air and waved in surprise. Enemy or not, this was more male contact than she'd had in quite a while, and she was very…affected…by his closeness. She cleared her throat and forced herself to be still, like when that Ear Spider had crawled up her hand in last weeks Nature's Balance laboratory.

"No, I won't," He murmured in her lap, rocking his head back and forth.

"Shh. Uh, it's okay…Malfoy. You're safe."

Malfoy shifted again, his whole body shuddering. She put her hands delicately on his chest and shoulders, holding him awkwardly. He, at the same time, threw his hands up to her arm and waist, clasping her desperately in his unconscious fit. She shivered nervously, but kept trying to be soothing.

"Shhh. It's alright. You're okay."

"No!" He shouted, bolting upright, wide awake.

Draco stared in front of him at the owl nests, blearily taking in his surroundings and trying to remember what had happened. He'd gone on a walk…and…it was so cold…and bright light….that voice from the Soundspecter…Voldemort! The Dark Lord had tried to _kill_ him. Him! But, that couldn't be! Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was a loyal servant to Lord Voldemort. Draco's throat sank slowly to his stomach. Voldemort had said something about a servant's ultimate sacrifice.

_"The life, say, of your only son."_

Hermione watched in surprise as Malfoy's face contorted from bewilderment to terror to utter despair. What on earth had happened to him up here? Even though she couldn't stand the nasty git, she felt compelled to reach out and help somehow.

"Malfoy? Are you alright?"

Draco swung around, fearful that Voldemort was back. Instead of evil lights and voices, he was even more surprised to see Granger sitting with him on the stone floor.

"What in Merlin's name are _you_ doing here, Granger?" He spat out at her, struggling to his feet.

Hermione groaned under her breath. Well, praised be. Malfoy was Malfoy again. She also rose, slower, dusting herself off.

"I saw lights and heard someone screaming. I came running in just in time to catch you as you fell."

"Fell!? _I _didn't fall, Mudblood." His cheeks went red with rage. What was she implying, that he had needed her _help_? Ludicrous!

Typical, she thought.

"Have it your way, then. I'll just be going." She pivoted angrily on her boot heel to leave and nearly mowed over Professor Snape and Dumbledore.

"Careful, girl! Watch. Your. Step!" Snape admonished her, furrowing his eyebrows suspiciously at Hermione as she tried to correct her path and nearly fell over.

"What is going on, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked when she'd righted herself.

"I was coming to the rookery to send a message, and I saw strange lights and heard a scream. I came running in, and Malfoy was fall--" she stopped and eyed him, "Malfoy was _unconscious_. I thought something was wrong, so I sent for help."

"Malfoy, are you alright?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Yeah. Yes." He stammered, wondering even as he said it if it was true. Could he tell the Headmaster about Voldemort without incriminating his father? Malfoy bit his lower lip. What if Voldemort was going to come back for him again?

"Malfoy," Even Snape sounded concerned.

"No! I mean. Yes, I'm fine." He puffed out his chest proudly. What business was it of theirs, anyway? "I slipped. It's icy. _Granger_ must have been seeing things." He rolled his eyes at her. "Hitting the Christmas sherry a bit hard, perhaps?"

Her mouth fell open again. "What!? I would never…"

"Quite right. Well. Sounds like we all should just get in out of this weather." Dumbledore waved them by, shooting Snape a quizzical expression.

The walk back to Hogwarts was as silent as the snow, but Hermione couldn't help but notice a genuine look of worry on Malfoy's face. Something _had_ happened to him up there, she knew it! Why had he lied to Dumbledore? The night and whirling storm made Malfoy's features even sharper, more dramatic and more handsome.

Draco, at the same time, couldn't help but feel Hermione's hazel eyes on him. He didn't care if her soft features were contorted with concern, her pretty lips scrunched together like she always looked in class when she was thinking hard. She was going to laugh at him with everyone later, he just knew it. Stupid, festering Harry Potter and his filthy band of losers! Hermione had grown into such a disarming beauty of a witch, and he hated having her powerful and lovely eyes look at him with pity. He walked faster, leaving the group behind him.

"Hermione, would you speak with me a moment?" Snape asked.

"Yes, sir?" Hermione was always on her guard with Snape.

"Do you know, Granger, of the Possession Curse?"

"I've read about it. It's an Ancient Magik. No wizard has actually been known to achieve it without going mad or killing themselves in the process." Her voice sounded strange to her as she rattled off the book knowledge. Why was Snape asking? They finally reached the warm halls of Hogwarts. In the distance, choir music and laughter resonated from the Christmas party.

"Right you are." Snape eyed her carefully. "These are dangerous days, Miss Granger. You should watch yourself."

She nodded, fixing her gaze far down the corridor, where Draco Malfoy's sleek form retreated into the distant dark.

Dangerous indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: The works of J.K Rowling, including Harry Potter and its characters, are extremely, absolutely, very-much-so, NOT mine in any way. Sigh._

The next day, students were scattering like seedlings from a wishing pod. Everyone was finally off for the holidays. In the middle of a bright, snowy courtyard and the flurry of goodbyes and weekend trunks and waving mittens and hugs, stood one Hermione Granger furiously lecturing her two best friends.

"Don't give me that face, Ronald Weasley! I mean it…something is going on. I don't know what it is, but after last night…"

"Hermione," Harry broke in gently, elbowing Ron to uncross his eyes at her. "I know last night was probably pretty weird, but I doubt whatever that insufferable prat Malfoy was doing constitutes a threat to all the wizarding world. It's all going to be fine!" He smiled, trying to look reasonable. In the sunlight, his spectacles glinted, like round auras circling his glowing eyes. Harry always made her feel calm and in control, and she loved him for that.

Still, her shoulders drooped, defeated in her attempt at mothering her best friends. "I know. Just…just be careful! Okay?" She leaned over and kissed Harry lightly on the cheek, then grabbed Ron and did the same. It was a very unusual show of affection for their friend, and Harry and Ron looked at each other curiously.

"What was that for?" Ron asked. "I mean, having Malfoy's head in _my_ lap would have driven me mental, too, of course…" Hermione shoved him hard, and Harry tried not to laugh.

"Oh, you useless…Just go, you dolts! Keep your eyes open."

She crossed her arms and watched them make their way down the path for the train station. She had decided not to leave school for the break (having missed sending the message yesterday to meet up with her parents) but her heart yearned a little as it watched everyone trot away merrily. Anyway! She didn't need that nonsense--she had an urgent healing potion to get to with Madam Poultice. Her gaze scanned the courtyard one more time, a silent well-wishing for her friends before she made for the library. But, out of the tip of her vision, she caught sight of a pointy roof in the distance. The rookery. She paused a moment. It occurred to her that the daylight might reveal some clues as to what happened last night.

Wait! Honestly, why did she care? It wasn't really any of her business what had happened. Not to mention that she can't _stand_ Malfoy! But, the look on his face…that patent terror. She'd seen what a coward he could be in class, and his cruel tricks were legendary around school. Last night just felt…different…from the typical Malfoy mischief. She remembered how gentle and frightened he'd seemed lying helpless in her lap. Ah, hornswallows, that seals it! It wouldn't hurt anything to take a quick peek.

As she stomped toward the rookery, Hermione didn't realize there was another student with that exact plan.

At that very moment, Draco had just climbed the last step to the tower. He found himself standing among the owls once again, suffering in the rookery. This time it wasn't loneliness paining him but a vicious fresh memory. He tossed a blanket he'd brought over an owl roost and sat down on the stump. So. What did he do now? Clearly, he wasn't going to return home on holiday. His father was a vindictive horror of a wizard and a tyrannical monster of a father, but as much as Draco hated and resented him, he'd never been afraid for his life. Was it really true that his father would allow Voldemort to kill him? And, if he would, why?

There was no evidence now of the Dark Lord's presence or any trace of the Soundspecter. Draco already knew there was no magic that could discover the original location of the message. He had nowhere to turn for his answers, and he dropped his face into his palms for the knowing of it. Heartbreak sank in.

Just as frustrated tears started welling, he heard a sound on the steps outside. His body jerked to attention. Who'd be coming up here now? All students and teachers were certainly busy with the holidays. He rushed to the main entrance, and flattened himself against the adjoining stone wall. The noise grew closer.

As Hermione rounded the corner, Draco grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly threw her against the stone, pinning her down and thrusting his nose inches from her own. She gasped, completely taken by surprise.

"Granger! What are _you_ doing here?" He let her go as he recognized her, disgusted. Then, just as suddenly, grabbed her and threw her back on the wall again.

"Quit that!" She squeaked. "What are you doing?" He pressed his body against hers to quiet her struggles, and wrapped his hands around her wrists, his fingers rigid as coiled snakes. His voice was dangerously low.

"You were here last night, too. Are you in on it, Granger? Is that it? What's going on?" His eyes were wild with fear and rage and she turned her chin from his darkened glare.

Hermione couldn't think save about the firm, strong body crushing against her. She smelled his rich cologne and the cloves of pumpkin juice on his hot breath, and all of her female intuition told her to be afraid of forceful male contact such as this. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged dragon.

Draco squeezed her wrists painfully tight, and she winced.

"What do you know?" He demanded, squeezing even tighter.

"Stop--stop it! I don't know what you're talking about!" She wiggled beneath him.

"Then why are you up here, Granger? Shouldn't you be flitting off to play Merry Christmas with your dirty muggle mommy and daddy?" He leaned in close to her face, which craned away from him. Still, his nose touched her soft cheek and breathing in, he could smell her. Vanilla and cream, he thought, brushing his lips against her jaw line.

"Let me go," she growled. "Or, I swear you'll pay."

"Not until you tell me where the Soundspecter came from, Granger."

"Soundspecter? What Soundspecter?" Reasoning faculty started slowly to return to her. He thought she had something to do with last night?

"You grow prettier ever day, Miss Granger, did you know? I'll bet your Harry and Ron love taking turns on you…"

"You despicable, wretched little coward!"

Malfoy laughed. "Oh, my. Did I hit a nerve, then?"

"Pathetic mealworm-minded…What was I _thinking_ coming up here to _help_ you!"

He pulled away, still holding her wrists.

"What do you mean, 'help' me?"

"Soundspecter, indeed! You probably were working some shabby love potion that exploded in your face, you miserable sod!" She kneed him in the groin, and wrenched her hands free. She immediately went for her wand as he doubled over and limped away. She pointed it straight at him and backed toward the entrance, still muttering insults.

"Wait, please…" He choked around the pain in his privates.

"Stay away from me, Malfoy." She turned to go.

"Wait! Please! He tried to kill me." Hermione paused, her back still to him.

Draco's voice filled with sobs and audible shame. He had no one to turn to, he kept thinking. No one to turn to. "Hermione…"

She turned slightly. Did he just call her by her first name? She sighed, a hand on her hip.

"What are you talking about? Who's trying to kill you?"

She turned fully, looking down at a Malfoy she'd never seen before, kneeling in owl droppings and holding his face in lonely, unmitigated sorrow. She took a step toward him and asked again, softer.

"Who, Malfoy? Who tried to kill you?"

Draco looked up at her, her face ringed with shining brown curls and haloed by sunlight. He dropped his own face to shadow, miserable.

"Voldemort," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: The works of J.K Rowling, including Harry Potter and its characters, are extremely, absolutely, very-much-so, NOT mine in any way. Sigh._

_I'm updating a bit early...I'm out of town this weekend. Thank you so much for reviewing me, iluv2dance and moonstar-75!!!_

"Right. Gingertoad tears."

"Pardon?" Malfoy looked up from his brooding to see Hermione standing up and dusting herself off. He'd only minutes before finished telling her the story from the previous evening, about the Dark Lord's voice through the Soundspecter, about it trying to kill him, even about the possibility of his father's involvement. After he'd finished, they'd sat together in long, thoughtful silence, with only the occasional screeching or flapping to serenade them.

"I said Gingertoad tears are in order, I think."

Malfoy blinked, still not understanding. Gingertoad tears were a seasonal delicacy served in local restaurants and pubs in late winter. They were known to induce fits of laughter and giddiness, which combined with his recent attempted murder and bizarre allegiance with a mortal enemy, seemed an odd course of action to say the least.

He looked up at Hermione, who was smirking at him deviously, arms crossed. He felt strange having her look at him with that regard, as he often witnessed her giving Harry or Ron or other friends the same conspiratorial expression.

He decided to go with it, and smiled as he rose to his feet.

"What's this about, then?"

Nearly an hour and a half later, he had his answer.

They were sitting in The Witching Hour, a quiet café off the main Alley with three glasses of freshly-squeezed Gingertoad tears.

Hermione wasn't saying much, and hadn't said much since she'd sent away some owl on an urgent message. Malfoy, however, wasn't currently concerned with the silence. His eyes kept darting around the room, terrified he was going to see someone he knew--an action that did not escape Hermione's shrewd attention.

"Must be _dreadful_ for you to be seen with a Mudblood, Mr. Draco Malfoy!" She announced loudly, drawing the stares of a couple patrons.

"Shh!" Draco hissed. "How dare you!"

"Listen, Malfoy," Hermione lowered her voice, leaning in at him maliciously, "I am _not_ here because I'm worried about your well-being or--gasp!--your reputation. I want to know what Voldemort is up to. Other than that, I don't give a fingernail clipping for what you think. End of story."

"Gee, thank you for letting me in on the completely obvious! Trust me, that feeling is mutual, Granger." But, it wasn't. In fact, what she said had surprisingly stung. Why is that, he wondered? Since when did he care what she thought of him?

"So," he leaned back casually, trying to change the tone, "If we aren't here for my reputation or well-being…why are we here? Somehow I don't sense I'm getting lucky tonight, so it can't be a date. Or, are you just trying to sauce me up and take advantage of me, Granger?" He waggled his glass of Gingertoad tears at her teasingly.

For the briefest of moments, a deep and innocent flush painted Hermione's pretty face. She quickly cleared her throat and replied, but not before Malfoy had noticed her blush. Could it be she'd never been out on a date before?

"We--we're meeting an acquaintance of mine," she said demurely, purposely ignoring his other comments and not looking directly into his piercing blue eyes.

"Who?" He asked, but his question was already being answered.

"Hermione Granger! Dahhhling!" A high, rolling female voice sounded from all the way across the café. A very large, very ornately dressed woman was waving an enormous purple feathered fan their direction.

"Mrs. Tuttle! Hello! Over here!" Hermione stood and gestured for the woman to join them. Mrs. Tuttle tittered and tsked, bouncing their direction like she was waltzing. As she neared, it was harder and harder for Malfoy not to laugh out loud.

Her girth was outstanding. She was easily as round as she was tall, which may not have been so interesting were it not for the way she'd decorated her self. Her outfit was entirely comprised of sequins, buttons, jewels, doilies, feathers, ribbons, beads, straps, flaps and ornaments. Malfoy couldn't locate one inch of actual visible fabric of any kind. Likewise, her white hair began about two feet high off her head, and was three feet wide, reminiscent of some sort of opera house wig. With one hand she wafted a gigantic purple feather fan, and with the other she patted at her endlessly jiggling cleavage with a lace kerchief.

"Mrs. Tuttle! It's so very good to see you again!" Hermione leaned over and kissed her on each massive, doughy cheek.

"Yes, yes, dahling! It's been a long 'vhile since your internship at the Bureau of Potion Stocks, hasn't it?" She hefted herself into the corner seat, rocking the entire table in the process and nearly toppling their drinks.

"Oooo! My, my!" Mrs. Tuttle didn't bat an eyelash at the near disaster. "Now, is this 'vhat I think it is, dahling?" She pointed to the goblet directly in front of her.

"Yes! Gingertoad tears, freshest there is," Hermione replied, smiling widely.

"Oh, dahling! That's my favorite! You remembered. You 'vere always such a sweet girl."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tuttle. It's the least I could do, what with you agreeing to come out and meet us on such short notice."

"But of course! Now, don't tell me you've invited me to meet your fiancé, no?"

"My…" Hermione shot an embarrassed glance at Malfoy. "No! No, Mrs. Tuttle." Hermione stuttered, flustered.

"No, Mrs. Tuttle. Hermione knows better than introduce someone she fancies to such a charming and lovely lady!" Draco broke in silkily, bowing his head Tuttle's direction. If anything being a Malfoy has taught him, it's how to be a smooth politician.

"'Vell, 'Vell! Isn't he the bee's knees! 'Vhat a catch, Hermione!"

"He's not my…"

"'Vhat is your name, good sir, if I may have the pleasure," Mrs. Tuttle interrupted Hermione.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, you can be sure! I'm Draco." He took her extended hand, using both of his own to manage the size of it, and contorted his neck to kiss a sausagey finger around eight gaudy, jewel encrusted rings.

"Nice to meet you, dahling," Mrs. Tuttle drawled, giggling such that the entire room seemed to vibrate.

"Right. Um, Mrs. Tuttle?" Hermione kicked Malfoy sharply in the shins. He jumped, shooting her a nasty look.

"Yes, dahling?" Mrs. Tuttle took a large gulp of her Gingertoad tears.

"The reason we needed to see is to ask you a question."

"Oh? 'Vhat 'vould that be?" She delicately tapped at the corners of her mouth, hiccupping once theatrically.

"We need to know if anyone could have conjured a Soundspecter last night."

Tuttle very slowly lowered her kerchief from her fleshy chest.

"'Vhy…'Vhy 'vould you 'vant to know such a thing?"

"We think someone may be using Soundspecter's to transfer a dangerous curse. See, we think…"

"Oh! Dahling! You shouldn't 'vorry yourself about such things. The Ministry has things 'vell in hand." Mrs. Tuttle waved her fan languidly, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Tell me, 'vhen did you two lovebirds meet?"

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration. "We're _not _lovebirds…"

"Ah! Mrs. Tuttle?" The two women looked at Draco, who raised his cup. "I'd like to propose a toast." Hermione looked at Malfoy like he'd grown another eyebrow. He nudged her under the table. "A toast of _Gingertoad tears_, to _laughter_ and _giddiness _and _lighthearted_ meetings with friends." Each word referencing the intoxicating effect of Gingertoad tears he punctuated with a kick to Hermione's shins.

"Oh, yeah! I mean…Yes! A toast to meetings with friends!" She lifted her own Gingertoad tears, finally understanding Malfoy's message. As sore as her leg was, she had to admit, it was clever of him.

A half hour later, Mrs. Tuttle had polished off three cups of Gingertoad tears and had the entire café jouncing and gyrating with the motion of her laughing fits.

"I…teeheeehehe…say! This 'vas a…hooheehahaha….great idea, Hermione!"

"I wholeheartedly agree, Mrs. Tuttle." Hermione winked at Malfoy. "Of course, I wish my darling Draco was enjoying himself."

"'Vhat? Heeteehee….Is everything alright, Draco dahling?" Mrs. Tuttle shifted toward Malfoy, who honestly felt momentarily nervous she'd topple giggling out of her seat and crush him.

"Oh, it's nothing, Mrs. Tuttle. Just an upsetting visit from a Soundspecter last night."  
Mrs. Tuttle regarded him for a minute, then frowned into her cleavage.

"Really? Hmmmm….heehawhawhaw." Her thinking melted into more chuckling, and her cheeks wiggled like rice pudding.

"What is it, Mrs. Tuttle? Does that seem strange for some reason?" Hermione prompted.

"Oh! Hahumhumha. 'Vell, yes, actually. You, see, dears--those Soundspecters are tricky to conjure. Those spells require roots from the Life Tree…teeteetee. I--haheeha---I personally am in charge of those potion stocks….Tawheehawhaw."

"Really?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her going.

"'Vell, dahling…tingteetee. You must be mistaken about that Soundspecter. No one except Lucius Malfoy, on strict Ministry business, has gone any'vhere near Life Tree roots. Life Tree, Life Tree, Life Tree…that's sounding soohoohehee…funny when I say it, no?" At that, Mrs. Tuttle lost it, burying her nose in her feather fan and guffawing, shaking her massive shoulders like boulders rolling in an earthquake.

They didn't need her to say anything more. She'd already revealed a horrifying piece of the puzzle. Hermione looked over at Malfoy, her mouth wide open. His face was sheet white, his lips spread in a tight, defeated line. "Only Lucius Malfoy," Mrs. Tuttle had said. _His father._


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: The works of J.K Rowling, including Harry Potter and its characters, are extremely, absolutely, very-much-so, NOT mine in any way. Sigh._

Hermione was determined. She didn't hesitate as she and Malfoy walked into Hogwarts, and had immediately--if not quicker--smartly kicked her ankles toward Headmaster Dumbledore's personal office.

Malfoy, despite his dark mood, was dryly amused. He'd known she was headed to rat him out the second they'd left Mrs. Tuttle to her giggles. Hermione's pupils had been wreathed with sparks, and her mouth went straight as the horizon as they'd left The Witching Hour. Now, watching her march off to Dumbledore, he felt he knew her as well as a first-year spell recitation.

He grabbed her arm at the elbow, and with the momentum of her own walking swung her around into the dark alcove between two life-sized oil paintings of the Hairless Harrington Sisters, who were snoring soundly. Hermione "umphed" as she hit the far wall.

"What is _with_ you and throwing me into walls?" It was dark, but he could swear her eyes flickered with little angry green flames. His, by contrast, glowed pale and purposeful. He wasn't touching her, but he was clearly blocking her way.

"I'm not going to let you go to old 'Dumb-as-a-door' about this."

"Why not," she sputtered, honestly confused. "You need protection! You heard Mrs. Tuttle, even your father is in on this--he's the only one who's recently accessed ingredients for a Soundspecter. You can't go running off to Daddy on this one, junior! Where will you go?"

Malfoy flexed his shoulders, hard. The last thing he needed now was being reminded of being alone and in need of help. Still, there was no way he was going to damage his father's reputation. Worse, no way he was going to let a mudblood damage his family name.

"Look, Granger--"

"No! You look, Malfoy. He _will _kill you. Voldemort, the Death Eaters, they will hunt you and kill you if they take it to mind. Once we get Dumbledore in on it, we'll know why you're being targeted in the first place. Maybe it can help draw Voldemort out…maybe…" Hermione's mind was spinning with possibilities. If she could only use this situation to expose Voldemort, to help bring him to justice...she could _save _Harry from the Dark Lord's vengeance!

But, her musing was interrupted by Malfoy's hands thrusting her into the wall. He closed his fingers around her neck, holding her throat and chin tipped up to his face. His lips were inches away, sneering.

"You poor, little muggle-born princess, you know _nothing. _Nothing about me. Nothing about what my father is capable of…nothing."

"Let me go. Please." She whispered, voice obscured by his ruthless grip.

"Why?" He leaned into her just as he had in the rookery. His body against hers, even with such rough connotation, was now becoming familiar in smell and sensation. In the tiniest increment, buried deep in her unconscious, a strange tingle electrified her.

"I'll tell you. Let me go."

He dropped her, feigning revulsion. In truth, he felt utterly powerless, lashing at her with little threads of his disgrace. "Let me guess! You're going to go skipping off to the Headmaster and he'll drop everything to save me! Oh, Oh! Maybe you can call Potter and Weasley in and we'll all ride off into the sunset. Piss on that, Princess."

He pulled out his wand and ran his finger tip along its length, not quite looking at her. Her hand inched to her own wand, twitching above it like a gunslinger waiting to draw. But, Malfoy didn't move.

"Granger, I'm finished with your assistance on this matter." He looked at her menacingly over his wand, his voice shrill. "Don't cross me. Don't go to your pathetic pals. Don't make me hurt you. _Don't_."

He turned and walked out of the alcove; the Hairless Harrington Sisters in their respective paintings whistled at him and tittered about, "young lovers." Hermione sat still in the shadows, alone for sometime after the sound of his stomping away had faded. She supposed she should feel angry and terrorized, but something inside her had switched in her regard for Malfoy. No one, not her worst enemy, would she wish as a victim of Voldemort's. She felt the fear in his touch and she couldn't un-feel it.

She had to figure out what to do. And, for Hermione Granger, that meant only one conclusion: the library.


	6. Chapter 6

Malfoy slammed together his bed curtains so no one could see him, redundantly since he was already alone in his room. He was alone in the whole Slytherin house. Alone. He could still feel Hermione's throat in his hands, and his heart pounding holding it. It was paining and confusing and alluring--he actually felt attracted to her. It must be the distress of the situation blinding him; he couldn't rationalize any other reason for her effect over him.

She was pretty, but hardly better than any he'd already had. There was definitely an intriguing innocence about her, a magnetic, unconquerable passion. It must be her willingness to help him when he had no one else. It was like having a ladybug crawl up into his palm confidently, when all he had to do was close his fingers. Normally, he would jump at the opportunity to crush Granger. But, she was so trusting to throw her lot in with him, that he regretted hurting her. Nonsense! She'd said herself all she cared about was finding out what Voldemort was planning. Why should it hurt so bad to push her aside?

"Be bother that witch, anyway! She's maddening, absolutely maddening!" He said aloud to his curtains, rolling over in bed. He forcefully shut his eyes without feeling the least bit sleepy. Burning images of her scalded behind his eyelids, refusing to be extinguished. He was pressed against her, amazed by how tiny she was beneath him. She was holding her breath, a winter's sweat dewing at her hairline from coming in fresh from the icy air to meet the heat of his body against her. She glistened with the invisible purity of girlhood, paralyzed by the dark curiosity for womanhood. Her neck was impossibly soft to his touch, the skin vulnerably exposed. All he had to do was squeeze that pretty throat, and she'd hold her breath forever. He did have that power; he could feel that power course through him. But, he had a _choice_, too.

"I'm not my father." He whispered, right as sleep overtook him and his fantasy of Hermione melted into a murky dream. "I'm not him."

_Deep in a lost forest among forgotten graves, mists of both magic and moisture swirled and collided around six black-robed figures. In the center of their circle was a half-naked man on his knees, shivering in the chilly evening air. A light but sinister voice sounded around the man's ear, and he bowed his head faithfully at the words. Hands past around him to a pile sitting at his left, wafting the mist around it. Strong as his dedication, deep as his beloved duty, the man still couldn't bring himself to look directly at the contents of that pile. The ingredients to this potion were his doom. Unicorn's blood in blackened glass. Hog's hairs. Sickening combinations of spicy, pungent herbs. Corpse feet. Live, wriggling unmentionables. And, in the center--like it too was damned--a lump of root from the Life Tree. _

_The chant began now, steady and perfect as was the way of the Death Eaters. A dull orange glow gradually lit around the pile. The man closed his eyes tightly, his breath quickening. The light grew to a glittering gold, raising up from the Life Tree root and elongating into a cylinder. The man on his knees could feel the light from the newborn Soundspecter through his shut eyes, and he winced like a person about to be hit. _

_The light became blinding, and the Soundspecter floated resolutely to the man, sinking bladelike into his bare chest as he threw his arms to the side, eyes wide with torturous pain. One of the dark figures, his Master, walked to the center of the circle, and turned his back on the man and the Soundspecter, whispering an ancient spell to the surrounding cemetery. A purple flicker moved out in the darkness, floating playfully like a scarf in the wind toward the middle of their circle. As it neared, the man saw in horror a pair of blue-black, vacant eyes looking right at him, hungrily. He gritted his teeth and tears streamed down his face, mixing with snot and spit as he choked on his sobs, agonized as he waited for it to be over. His Master moved to one side, hands curling toward the man like a courteous invitation. The ghost, the demon--whatever it was the man would never know--it slithered toward him and wavered curiously before the Soundspecter in the man's chest. His Master spoke a few words, and the living vapor thrust itself into the Soundspecter and straight into the heart of the man. The man's mouth opened into a silent scream, his body seizing as his spirit quietly slipped away._

_The other figures watched as their comrade faded. The Dark Lord was delighted. The man's body did not fall, but the lifeless head rolled forward, and the eyes re-opened, now a deep purple._

_"Kill that fat old relic--Olympia Tuttle," said the Master's harsh, raspy voice. "Go now."_

_The Soundspecter became intensely bright, and the possessed man was engulfed by its light. After a moment, the light subsided, and both Soundspecter and man were gone, leaving only the Death Eaters and their secrets. _

_One of the figures stepped forward to his Master, bowing his head and removing his mask. _

_"Well done, My Lord," Lucius Malfoy said, lifting his head and smoothing back his long ice blonde hair. _

Draco woke in a start. His dream had befuddled him, and he stared emptily around his bed dressings, trying to catch his bearings. Then, the memory of the nightmare hit him, fresh as springtime: Mrs. Tuttle! She was in danger. Without another pause, he charged through his bed curtains, only one thought pounding in his ears. He had to find Hermione.


	7. Chapter 7

Her eyes felt like fire; she rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, but they wouldn't stop burning. There was something odd about doing research where Malfoy's well-being was in concern. She kept telling herself her efforts were only about thwarting Voldemort's evil plans, but she kept seeing the desperation and fear in Malfoy's eyes and losing her concentration completely. Her focus on the dusty pages blurred into strange memories of his body against her; the proximity to important information about Soundspecters and dark arts became the proximity of his mouth to hers. Very quickly, she'd felt both frustrated and useless.

Still, Hermione had spent all night at the library, and had gathered a mountain of disjointed, confusticated facts, none of which amounted to much more than _barely_ helpful. As a last-ditch effort, she pushed all the books she'd assembled to the floor with a sweep of her arm, and proceeded to pound her forehead against the desk a few times. Unfortunately, that didn't help either.

She sighed, leaning over to clean up the materials she'd tossed. The top book was still open to the chapter she'd been reading, "A Concise Guide to Sendings through Soundspecters."

"Hmph. 'Sendings through Soundspecters,'" she mumbled sardonically. "Be nice if we could just _send_ him a kitten and candies and say, 'Please stop being such a jerk.'"

She stopped dead. Wait a minute. She picked the book up and scrutinized the title one more time. Sendings, it said. That's it! She dropped to her knees and started fumbling through the mess of scrolls and papers and texts, searching for a book she'd thumbed through hours ago.

"C'mon, C'mon…come on…here!" The one she held up was blood-red and leather-bound. She kissed its dusty cover, and almost immediately sneezed. As quickly as she could she snapped her wand over her mess, and ran for the exit as the stacks started to sort and put themselves away.

She rushed through the familiar aisles, and bounded to the library doors. She made it two feet before she smashed directly into Draco.

"Oh! Sorry!" She began, putting out her free hand with conciliatory apology before she noticed it was Malfoy. Once she noticed, she straightened in surprise.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She asked, scrunching her eyes. Secretly and casually, she hid the red leather book behind her back.

"Gee wizard! Just hoping to…bump…into you, Granger." Draco's eyes sparkled with the pun, but she definitely didn't smile back.

"Why?" She asked, and then changed her mind, "Scratch that. I don't care." She started to walk around him, and he moved into her path.

"You don't understand. We have to…"

"_We_? I thought you were 'through with my assistance on this matter,'" she lowered her voice to sarcastically mimic his own words. She decided not to tell him she'd just spent hours researching ways to help him unawares.

"I had a bad dream."

"Oh, poor dear. Drink some warm milk before bed next time. And choke on it." She shouldered by him. She didn't have time for this; she had to find Dumbledore as soon as possible.

Again, he stepped in to block her from leaving. Despite herself, the back of Hermione's neck prickled with a little apprehension. Twice now he'd held her down against her asking, rather roughly at that. She flexed her shoulders and stood her ground; there was no way she was going to let Malfoy know that he intimidated her. Everyone was always cowing to him, whispering about his father being a rumored Death Eater, or siding up next to him falsely because of his family's wealth and influence. Well, she wasn't about to join the herd.

"A little nervous, Granger?" Malfoy closed the distance between them, grinning deviously at her. He had to admit to himself, it turned him on a little to have her always standing up to him. It was a rare experience for him to be put in his place.

"Get _out_ of my way you pompous, egomaniacal…"

"Tuttle is in danger."

"…contemptible, over-bred…Wait. What did you say?"

"I dreamt of a coven gathering of Death Eaters…they were sending a Soundspecter, I guess, but there was a man, too. They killed him and--I don't know how--but he went _with_ the Soundspecter. Before he disappeared, Voldemort told him to kill Olympia Tuttle…" The details of the dream poured out of him in a flurried rush, and Hermione was too confused to follow. She leaned in and put her hand on his arm, gently soothing him.

"Hold on, you have to slow down. I don't understand. Shhhh…slow down."

Draco took a breath. His heart pounded in his ears, loud enough he was sure she heard it. His cheeks flushed; he was ashamed to expose these emotions to her, wasn't ready to unearth the vulnerability. He cleared his throat hastily.

"Oh, I'll go as slow as you want it, Granger," he said lustily, laying his hand on top of hers suggestively. His joke broke the tension, and she went cherry-red, ripping her hand away and shaking her brunette curls at him with adorable fury.

"You're disgusting!"

He smiled mischievously, but quickly fell serious, dropping his head.

"My, uh, dad was there," he admitted to her quietly. "He was one of the Death Eaters in this graveyard in my dream. Granger, it was so strange! They conjured a Soundspecter, and it _cut _into the center of this man. When it disappeared, so did he."

"Have you ever had this dream before?"

Malfoy shook his head emphatically. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Harry has had premonitions like this before—about You-Know-Who. They tend to come true." Malfoy winced internally at the mention of Potter's name. For some reason, he wanted Hermione's thoughts on _him_, not Harry Potter.

"We have to go to Dumbledore, Malfoy."

"I know," he conceded. "But, I want to tell Professor Snape first." Hermione drew in her breath, all set to disagree with him, but he cut her off before she could start. "Look. I know you aren't buddy-buddy with Snape, but he _does_ have the most experience with the Death Eaters. He's most likely to know what's going on."

She bit her lip; it was hard to argue with that point. She nodded at him, and they started down the corridor together toward the Slytherin annex.

"And. Ah, Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Just for now, could we leave out my father's part in this?" He tried to ignore the lump in his throat, lifting his chin haughtily, and speaking as casually as if he'd asked her about the weather.

She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, recognizing his struggle to keep his tone steady. She truly didn't blame him, actually—this had to hurt his pride.

"Absolutely," She said, putting as much encouragement in her voice as she could.

Shoulder to shoulder with a supposed enemy, they walked beside one another in companionable and comfortable silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Professor Snape's personal office door was as black as his disposition, decorated for the holidays with a morose wreath of Deadly Nightshade and Midnight Blueberries. Hardly cheerful, Hermione thought. She shivered, unconsciously shifting her weight a little toward Malfoy. She got the distinct feeling she didn't belong here.

"Well, we're here." Malfoy said, but his body language betrayed his nonchalance. The corners of his mouth twitched downward, and his palms were rhythmically rubbing the sides of his robes. Neither of them made the move to knock.

"Malfoy. Before we go in there, I need to tell you something."

He watched as she pulled the red leather book from behind her. She took a deep breath.

"I know how this is going to sound, so I don't want to say it—you know—in front of anyone else."

Draco cocked his head curiously at her. She was wearing the same innocent blush she wore when he'd teased her about dating in The Witching Hour.

"I am pretty sure I know what curse they were trying to cast the other night in the rookery, and I think I figured out why it failed…"

"What is it, Hermione?" Draco leaned in, excited. This was finally some good news, at least.

"Yes, what _is_ it, Hermione?" Professor Snape snipped from behind them, causing both of them to startle and swing around, "Because surely one must have a reason for loitering so rudely before someone's office door."

"Professor!" Malfoy tried to calm his frayed reflexes. "Sorry, we didn't see you."  
"Clearly, or you wouldn't have remained in my way." Snape's stringy black hair fell into his eyes with the angry tilt of his head, and he picked it away with exasperation. "And, what is this about curses?"  
"We need to speak with you, Professor, right away." Hermione spoke up gravely. "We believe someone's life is in danger."

Snape's eyebrow shot skyward. "Why? What have you done now, Granger?" He demanded, looming over her menacingly.

"Me? No! I haven't…"

Snape cut her off with an annoyed click of his tongue, ushering them to the door. "In, in! Both of you."

Once inside the office, the strong sent of Snape's personal herb garden hit them like charging buffalo. Littered all around the office were various boxes and silvered packing twine, dead Poinsetta petals, dried holly and rolls of black paper. He was wrapping Christmas gifts, Hermione thought dryly, and mused about inconceivable it would be to get a present from Snape. The Professor retreated to a far corner, where he mumbled to them about waiting a moment, and proceeded to pull a small vial of liquid, a rock, a brown paper sack, and a folded copy of today's newspaper. He poured the liquid on the rock, which immediately began to scream and sizzle lightly, and he quickly put it under spy glass. It grew and twisted, taking the form of a tiny purple snake that hissed and coiled into various letters and shapes—a _toy_, Hermione realized, astonished! What child in its right gourd would hang around Snape? Even Malfoy was a little surprised at the mysterious presence of the benign children's toy, which now was spelling out "I love you" in fluffy, purple letters from under the glass.

Snape nodded in satisfaction at the little creation. He pulled a leftover piece of curdled cream cake from the brown sack, grabbed the newspaper and whirled around to meet them face-to-face from behind his desk.

"Now. What is this about you casting curses, Ms. Granger?"

"Oh, no, Professor…I'm not the one…"

"I do _not_--contrary to the _ignorant_ confines of your limited opinion--have tons of time to waste, girl. Get to it."

Hermione cleared her throat, stammering. "Well, the other night, when you—when Dumbledore and you—came upon us in the rookery…"

"You mean when we were summoned to the rookery by you under false pretenses of danger? When we rushed out in the middle of that ghastly blizzard to freeze our earlobes off for the fancies of a silly little girl…"

"Professor, might I please improve upon what she's trying to say?" Draco glanced worriedly at Hermione, who looked very torn between despair and wrath.

"I wish you would, Malfoy."

"The other night, up in the owl's tower, I was approached by a Soundspecter." Draco watched as Snape reacted with immediate interest, his eyebrows dancing a ballet.

"I knew it was a Soundspecter, and the voice that came from it announced itself as the Dark Lord." Malfoy took a breath, purposely leaving out what the voice actually said.

"But, before I knew what was happening, the whole world lit up like an explosion and then went black. I think," his voice crackled, "I think I was dying."

Professor Snape's features softened considerably, which was fascinating to Hermione. She rarely saw him appear any way other than furious.

"The Dark Lord? Are you sure?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Tell him about your dream," Hermione poked Draco in the ribs. Snape fired an irritated glance at her, as if to shush her.

"I also had a dream last night," Draco took a deep breath. "It was about…_them_."

"Death Eaters?" Snape asked urgently, "What were they doing?"

"They were standing in a circle in a dark graveyard. There was a man in the center, kneeling in front of a pile of spell ingredients. They conjured a Soundspecter…and it, it _sank_ into him. Right into his chest; here," Malfoy pointed at his own midsection.

Snape scrutinized Draco, listening carefully.

"Then?"  
"Then, You-Know-Who called to something in the graveyard. It came to the man, and moved right into the center of the Soundspecter inside him. The Soundspecter and the man disappeared right before the dream ended." Again, Malfoy took a deep breath. He felt with every word the weight of his betrayal; he could feel his father's icy stare, the lashing of his cane and the iron of his fists. But, he also felt the warmth radiating from Hermione beside him, her fidelity and goodness that had crossed the barriers between their two worlds. He looked at her quickly, and she nodded once, reassuring him.

"The Dark Lord spoke to the man before he disappeared," Malfoy said softly. "He ordered him to kill Olympia Tuttle."

The office of Professor Snape was stone quiet for a couple of seconds. Then, startling all three of them, a tiny voice shrieked from somewhere on Snape's cluttered desk.

"Olympia Tuttle! Ghastly shame!" The voice shouted, "Front page, continued on page 6."

"What was that?" Hermione and Draco asked simultaneously.

"Read all about it! Olympia Tuttle! Front page, continued on page 6."

Snape rattled around the contents of the desk top, displacing the black Christmas wrapping, and scraps of braided Nightshade ribbons until he laid his hands on the newspaper he'd brought in with his cream cake snack.

He unfolded it to reveal the cover story:

"_Olympia Tuttle Found MURDERED: Her son confesses to the horrifying crime!"_

Draco felt his stomach curl inside out, his mouth fill with invisible dust.

Right in front of him on that newsprint was a picture of the man from his dream, glaring madly and laughing hysterically.

In his wildly rolling eyes was a slight, purple glow.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco Malfoy was a traitor. His treachery could be punished; he could even be killed. But, he wasn't thinking about that right now. He was thinking about Hermione.

When they'd seen the article about Olympia Tuttle's murder, she'd gasped in horror. Her hazel eyes went wide and wet and she sank down in her chair; her robes folded around soft curves where her little body heaved with grief.

It was terrible, but years and years of carefully-studied and parentally-forced emotional detachment allowed Draco to feel nothing. He felt wrung dry, breathing in and out empty, scalded sand. He'd felt this nothingness before, of course--time and time again—like being lost in this cold, unfeeling desert inside of him.

But, this time it was different. This time, he was thinking about Hermione, too. He could almost hear her thoughts. He heard her thinking about how tragic it was, how they'd just seen the boisterous woman, full of life and Gingertoad tears, giggling with all her worth and all her girth. He could feel her crying inside, much too brave to let herself go completely in front of him and Professor Snape. Despite himself, despite all his put-on bravado, arrogance, and how much he'd been sure she was nothing but a Mudblood and beneath him, he still wanted to reach over and hold her. He wanted to feel the way she did, feel all the ugliness through her and for her so she didn't have to.

Snape had immediately risen to his feet, grabbed his winter cloak and left for the Ministry of Magic. Right before rushing out the door, he ordered them to house confinement for their protection.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are _not_ to be alone. Not for any reason. Stay with him, Ms. Granger." Snape looked between him and Hermione, a strange and subtle grin wiggling across his lips. "If you two are—together—you can't be hurt."

The two students sat in silence for a long moment after the professor rushed from the office. Hermione's voice was impossibly small when she broke the quiet, choked as it was by her held tears.

"It's the Possession curse," she whispered. "Mrs. Tuttle's son was possessed by the thing you saw in the graveyard."

"I don't understand." He responded, physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch her.

"The Soundspecter was just a conduit—to _send_ the possessed killer so the origin was unknown."

Malfoy nodded, beginning to see. "It's a perfect crime—the Ministry can't track the Soundspecter." The gruesomeness of it struck him, but so did the brilliance.

"That's just it," she looked up to meet his eyes. "It's the perfect _assassination_."

The two had decided to move to the Slytherin common room, as it made sense that Professor Snape would probably return there once he arrived back at Hogwarts. Draco felt the tenseness in his body loosen the moment they went through the secret passage. He headed straight to the couch by the roaring fire. The green davenport with its thick, worn cushions had never felt so good, Malfoy thought, grunting as his plopped down into their depths.

Hermione, however, was not nearly as comfortable. Alone in the enemy's den, so to speak, was the last place she thought she'd find herself. She sat across from Malfoy on a cushioned ottoman, sitting up proper and demurely as she could muster with such a crushed spirit. She shifted awkwardly, her eyes darting around the room and at the paintings which all seemed to be whispering about her scandalous intrusion. Finally, the sound of Malfoy laughing brought her attention back on him.

"What?" She asked, outraged by his levity. "How _dare _you laugh at a time like this!"

"Oh, I was just remembering what someone said to me once. Something like, 'Must be _dreadful _for you to be seen with a Slytherin!'" He grinned at her, gleefully throwing her own insult about his snobbish behavior in The Witching Hour back at her.

Hermione's anger fell away thwarted by his humor, and she shook her head, smiling at his insight.

"I guess we both make the same mistakes."

"I guess we do." He held her eyes with his a moment longer than necessary and she broke her gaze away, flushing and clearing her throat. An unspoken meaning rested in the air between them, and she hastily changed the subject.

"Malfoy, I need to tell you something." She pulled the red leather book from her robes, the same one she'd showed him before Snape's interruption.

"I knew about the Possession curse before," she paused sadly, "Before we learned about Mrs. Tuttle in Snape's office.

"I found a book that theorized how sendings other than messages were possible through Soundspecters. Snape had asked me, that night we all were walking back from the rookery, if I knew about the Possession curse. I think he was trying to probe me for the real story about what happened up there."

Draco winced, remembering how he'd insulted her after she'd rushed in to save his life. It hadn't occurred to him until now that he'd never actually thanked her.

"Anyway, it gave me the idea about the connection between the two. The Possession curse renders the victim empty, you see? Like a shell. The way it kills you is to detach and isolate you from reality, carve out what makes you _you_ without changing the outside appearance." She flipped open the red book to a marked page and read aloud:

_"The Possessed is pulled away in strips, first memory, then love, then life. The soul is strangled."_

Malfoy couldn't help but smile inwardly at the irony. He was an easy target, then, considering he felt practically like an empty shell already.

Hermione took a quick breath, glossing over the last little piece of information in a brief mumble.

"Which is why I was able to save you…So! At least we prevented you from killing anyone. I think that whoever you were meant to assassinate…"

"Wait a second," he interrupted. "What do you mean, 'Which is why you were able to save me'?"

Hermione suddenly became very interested in her toes.

"Uh, you know. The book talks at length about how people are anchored to life by attachments to others. Friends, family…uh, lovers and such."

"I don't get it, Granger."

"Merlin's Mansions! Do I have to spell it out? I ran in to _save_ you, which was like me saying I care about you. It attached you to me during the spell, so the possession couldn't hold you." She threw her hands up, exasperated, and then dropped them, embarrassed.

"You care about me?" He smiled, half-teasing.

"No! Well, yes…I didn't want you to be hurt. Oh, slug clippings, I don't know!"

Malfoy stood up and walked to her, kneeling in front of her. She startled backwards, looking absolutely mortified.

"Thank you for saving me, Hermione. I am in your debt." There was no teasing in his voice this time. He was utterly sincere, and he wanted her to know it.

"I hardly…"

"_Thank _you."

Hermione sat stone still, shocked immobile at his totally uncharacteristic display. Malfoy leaned in close to her, the tickle of her scent encouraging him where her frozen stance failed to. He let the bridge of his nose nuzzle her just to the left of her chin, bumping her head upward gently and exposing her soft throat inches away from his mouth. He saw her swallow hard, and being so close to her little body, he could feel her tense up nervously. So, he didn't kiss her. He just barely brushed his lips against the curves of her throat, reassuring her by running his hands up her arms delicately.

Gradually her head turned, lowered. Her eyes were closed now, and she was panting lightly from her parted lips. She quivered all over with new, excited fear.

"Hermione," Draco whispered her name like a question. She nodded softly with permission.

He kissed her, pulling away as soon as he could stand it, then delving back, deepening their kiss and putting his arms around her waist.

As he lifted himself forward to press against her, Hermione panicked a little, pushing away at his chest. But, Draco held her firmly through her second thoughts, holding his mouth tightly against hers and keeping her bound to his kiss—he'd only just discovered what this amazing little witch was capable of awakening in him, and there was no way he was letting go now!

Her breath caught in her throat, a tiny moan of refusal trapped and swallowed, and then she relaxed into his arms. The fingers pushing against his firm chest bent into little claws that now gripped him, pulling at his robes urgently.

They were as possessed by the moment as the Soundspecter's curse, melting into one another by the rolling Slytherin fire and dissolving together into a forbidden passion.


	10. Chapter 10

"There's something I was…wondering."

"Hmm?" Hermione had only waked moments before, wrapped in a green blanket and wrapped in Draco's arms. They'd slept through the night in the Slytherin common room, and it was early morning. The roaring fire had burned down to mere embers, glowing like secrets. She stretched now uncertainly, her body unaccustomed to waking with someone else. She felt around for her clothes, clearly feeling too exposed.

"Would you have been able to stop the spell if there wasn't something, you know, binding us together already?"

She blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—when you ran into the Soundspecter, you didn't know it was me, did you?"

She frowned, thinking back. "No, I just saw the outline of a person. I didn't realize it was you, because if I had…" she stopped suddenly, not wanting to finish the thought out loud.

"If you _had_ recognized me, you wouldn't have run in to save me." Draco finished her sentence for her anyway, smiling playfully. "It's okay, Hermione….Until recently, I wouldn't have blamed you."

"Sorry," she whispered. "This is a little difficult for me to get used to."

Malfoy reached for her, putting a finger on her naked collar bone, and slowly lowering it down her chest, tracing flawless skin all the way to her belly. She froze at his touch, biting her lip and quivering as his touch meandered around her exposed breasts.

Draco winced at her reaction. He hadn't meant to be rough with her their first time together. Damn it all! He'd just wanted her so badly—even thinking of how it had felt to sink into her, to be engulfed by her, was enough to set a knot burning in his groin all over again.

Still, he was racked with regret over the encounter. The way her nails had scratched his back—hard enough to draw blood—he'd known she was a virgin, of course. But beyond the physical pain, he could tell she was terribly frightened of the depth of her own passion. Silly, beautiful witch! She'd never taken the time to really explore her amazing sensuality. He'd seen it on her face as his hips rolled against hers, the expression of total surprise at the incredible pleasure she was beginning to experience. It was the door she'd never opened; so astonishing, she hardly knew how to enjoy it. Every moment of it had shocked her, not because she _didn't_ want him--but because she _did. _

As aroused as he was, Draco hadn't been able to control himself or moderate his pace. He'd torn into her urgently, bruising her mouth with furious kisses, clenching and grasping and thrusting harder and faster as her moaning rose to crescendo and breathing quickened to panting.

Something about being with her had excited a part of his senses that he'd never known existed. She'd felt like a friend, as weirdly non-sexy as that realization was. She had protected him even though it wasn't her fight, had stuck by him even when he'd pushed her away. He didn't just want to conquer her, quell his need inside of her and be done with it. He wanted to confide in her, know her inside and out—lay with her, naked as a birthday, and wallow in the sensation of her unconditional acceptance.

Hermione was his enemy, the girl prized and protected by his enemies, and all Malfoy wanted more than anything else in his life was to have her look at him with the same desire in her eyes as his held staring at her right now.

So, as he admired her quivering, lovely form—he wished adamantly that he'd taken it slower and showed her what a careful lover he could be.

Suddenly, a wonderful idea struck him.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, frowning at him, a shy smile playing at her lips.

He grabbed her waist as his answer, tackling her to the floor. She shrieked with surprise, giggling. He pinned her beneath him, his chest square against her back.

"What are you up to?" She asked tentatively over her shoulder, half-teasing, half-concerned.

He responded by moving the tangles of her soft auburn curls to the side, exposing her bare shoulders and the gorgeous nuances and curves of her back. With expert care, he layered delicate kisses on the nape of her neck, listening to her suck in her breath with surprise as the sensation sent electricity flying down her spine. She arched the small of her back in pure animal response, her skin prickling into gooseflesh and shivers.

He reacted immediately to her subtle submission, running rigid fingertips down the length of her sides, firm enough to count every one of her ribs. When he reached her waist, he tilted her hips up to meet his needs, holding himself against her flesh without penetrating.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear from behind her.

"I…we can't do this again…it was a mistake." She felt tense all over again.

He expected that answer, and soothed her with more tantalizing soft kisses on her shoulders.

"You have to trust me."

Her voice shook timidly. "How can I?"

"Because you already do," He ran a finger up her spine. "You know somewhere deep down, that I would never hurt you."

"Aren't I just some Mudblood?" Hermione's voice was surprisingly fierce, and he pulled up away from her as if she'd physically hurt him. He gritted his teeth. For last night, for all the times he'd been so cruel, he deserved it. He buckled down his pride—he wouldn't let her defenses deter him.

"Is that it, dear witch?" He asked her, "You can't see already that you're my equal?" He laughed, and she startled beneath him.

"What's so funny?"

"No one puts me in my place like you do, Granger. Surely you know that."

She lowered her chin a little, thankful that her flushed face was turned from his. For Malfoy, she knew that was a grave compliment.

"You're everything I wish I could be—a true friend," he whispered, kissing her neck again and reveling in the little moans she rewarded him with.

He kneaded her body with his, lifting and flipping her deftly so the new lovers were face to face.

"Now. Allow me to show you what I most _dreadfully_ neglected last night, Ms. Granger."

"What's that?" She asked, cocking her chin to the side innocently.

Draco grinned at her. He was going to enjoy answering that question.


	11. Chapter 11

Every ceiling has its darkest corner. It's where the shadows lie thick enough they seem to move, mysterious as the invisible bottoms of deep water. The last place your eyes find before they close to sleep, and the first place they dart at the unbidden noises of the night.

It was in just such a corner that Lucius Malfoy gazed now, sitting and waiting in his Master's quarters. His life had been marked by indulging the allure of the darker corners, the places ordinary people tried not to think on. He made a good servant of those ideals, and thrived on the profits of having a selfish heart. But, he felt anything but content with his choices now as he waited, having been summoned by his Lord only moments before. There had been a vicious anger in that raspy voice, and the last thing Lucius wished to face was his Master's wrath.

The Dark Lord's room was finely if simply furnished; a bed, a dresser, a table and chair. All the furniture was made of lush mahogany and deep, rich textiles. Lucius had seen to it personally that this particular hideout be outfitted with the best of the best. As his pompous eye surveyed the room, however, all the finery was subdued by some stifling force, an ill-will and malevolent presence that made the colored fabrics duller and the intricate woodwork shabbier.

"I hope you are enjoying your thoughts,"

Lucius jumped; in staring and contemplating, he hadn't noticed his Master's entrance into the room.

"My Lord," Lucius rose quickly to his feet and bowed, trying his best not to reveal his fear over this summons. He stood and fidgeted with his plush cashmere overcoat, watching the Dark Lord move soundlessly across the room. "You wished to see me?"  
"Ah." Voldemort nodded slowly, cocking his head at him in an animal gesture, like a curious reptile.

Lucius couldn't stand it. "What may I do for you, Master?"

"We have a problem, my brother."

"My Lord?"

"You are not the most reliable companion, are you, Lucius?"

Lucius panicked, the typical characteristic of cowardice paling on his face. "My Lord! No! We took care of Tuttle—no one has any idea about the origin of the Soundspecter, and she was the only one who knew about me taking the Life Tree roots…"

"The _only_ one?" A cruel twist moved on Voldemort's mouth. A smile, or as close to it as the Dark Lord came.

Lucius stood agape, dumbstruck by his Master's meaning. Gradually, he spoke.

"But…but, sir! My son would never speak out against me, or against you. He respects your power, Most Gracious Master…"

"You lie!" A dangerous blue spark twinkled at the Dark Lord's fingertips—a deadly warning.

"But…"

"Our spies _saw_ him speaking with Tuttle, him and that ratty female companion of Potter's! Your son is betraying you, brother…you poor, thick imbecile."

Lucius felt hot fury begin to burn in his chest.

"No! Draco would never ally himself with that filth…never!"

The Dark Lord laughed, a horrible sound that reverberated off the walls like steel scraping steel.

"Why such a fuss, brother? You weren't so concerned about his status when I asked you to sacrifice him to the Possession Curse."

Lucius's face went black with shame and rage. He dropped his head, remembering the humiliating moment that Voldemort had ordered him to conjure the Soundspecter to curse his only son. His Master wanted to assassinate influential enemies at Hogwarts, including Dumbledore, and Draco was ideally positioned to do so. Lucius had no choice in the matter, helpless to stop the Dark Lord's plans lest his own life replace Draco's on the chopping block.

It had been all he could do to hide his jubilation when the shadow of Hermione Granger's form had torn through the light of the Soundspecter, ripping Draco from Voldemort's spell. But, as the elation faded, he was deeply disturbed. Why would that Potterette help _his_ son? How dare the dirty Mudblood presume to involve herself, and how dare Draco allow her to hurt his father's good name!

But, for all his anger, he had almost lost his son, and had to admit to himself that he was secretly relieved the spell went awry, no matter who was involved.

"Your weakness displeases us, brother," his Master hissed.

"I am so sorry, Master."

"Oh, come now!" Lord Voldemort's voice turned sickly sweet, falsely comforting. "We caught it in time—shut up that fat hen before she could cluck to anyone important." He threw his hands in the air, the thick, long fingernails filed sharp like a predator's claws.

"Still," The Dark Lord switched once again to a sinister tone, looming over his frayed servant like a cat over a tired mouse. "We dohave the problem of your son knowing…and this girl," he clicked his tongue. "What _do _we do, Lucius?"

"Master, my son won't say anything, he…"

"Fool! He already has!"

Lucius cringed as though he'd been struck.

"Snape from Hogwarts just arrived at the Ministry! My spy says he went about telling anyone who'd listen what really killed Tuttle—they're already taking steps to prevent more Possessions. It's why I summoned you…our plans are destroyed, you faithless little worm! Your _precious_ son has ruined them!"

Lucius' face fell, he was sick with fear. He was surprised by what his Master said next.

"It is fortunate that we can salvage some opportunity from this mess."

"My Lord?"

"Your son has given us an interesting advantage," the Dark Lord patted his fingertips together with baleful consideration. "He has formed some sort of attachment to this girl, or the Possession wouldn't have been prevented."

Argument flared to the back of Lucius' throat, but his fear kept his silence.

"Now, now! Don't trouble yourself, my loyal companion. We can use their connection, brother. She is close to my enemies, trusted. Bring me this son of yours, and bring the girl with him."

"As you wish, Master. Shall I gather your Death Eaters now?"

"It won't be necessary."

Lucius paused, mouth open. He didn't understand.

"But, Master—this girl is a friend of Potter's. I can't just approach her without my mask, she'd never come with me. I need the Death Eaters to kidnap her."

Voldemort smiled, a creepy peeling of his lips from his teeth. "It's not _you_ she will be coming with, my brother."

Lucius stared at his Master, trying to discern his meaning. Gradually, his eyes lifted, finding that same dark corner on the ceiling he'd been gazing into earlier. Dark thoughts moved within him, and suddenly he grasped what his Lord wanted. The corners of his mouth curled and twitched, a cruel realization flashing before his eyes.

Without another word, Lucius stood and bowed to his Master, fluffing his Christmas cashmere overcoat across his forearm and making for the exit.

As he left that room, all his thoughts and intentions were bent on two people: Hermione and Draco.


	12. Chapter 12

The water was much too hot, burning the soles of her feet and turning the skin on her back as bright red as if she'd been freshly slapped. Still, she stood in the shower letting the water scald her skin, wishing desperately that it would wash right into the center of her and sterilize all the events of the previous few days.

She'd left Draco and the Slytherin house right after their morning…lovemaking? Is that what she was supposed to call it? She balled her tiny fists white with frustration, pounding them against the cold shower wall. She leaned her shoulder against the icy marble, prickling with the sensation of cold in the midst of all that hot. She shuddered. The duality of cold wall and the hot water was a perfect matching for her hot emotions and cold rationale.

It wouldn't be accurate to describe what she was feeling as regret. The experience itself had been pleasant, dreamlike in its intensity and mesmerizing as a distant fantasy come-true. Malfoy hadn't been forceful with her, after all. She hadn't realized how long she'd been secretly waiting for someone to make her feel beautiful. Draco had made her feel wanted, alive and wonderful. The first time had been so new and frightening she hardly had time to think, but the second time he'd been nothing but careful and gentle and passionate. His arms held her with such a deep, unconditional trust.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and she put her face in the searing stream of water, gasping with the shock of the water burning her. She could feel every pore flush open, and she wanted the memory of it all just to fall through her and run down the drain. She could still feel his lips on her shoulders, his strong body against hers…but, she could also feel the cold reality of the consequences.

First, Harry and Ron would never understand. Not ever. She was sick with shame even _imagining_ what they would say when she confessed to sleeping with Draco. They'd brand her a traitor; probably never speak to her again. Plus, it wasn't like she was suddenly going to start receiving invitations to the annual Malfoy Christmas Ball. Draco's family sure-as-shitfire was never going to accept _her_. And, her world would never accept him. It was a cold truth. How can a fledgling relationship survive such hostile enemies?

She put her hand to the faucet, turning the water off reluctantly. Her heart yearned with affection and her mind reeled with anxiety. What now?

"What now?" Draco asked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. About the same time Hermione was stepping out of her shower, Draco was finishing up his morning routine, too. He'd shaved and showered, and was standing in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel.

As he stared at himself, the needling apprehension that had plagued him since Hermione left earlier that morning flooded once again to the front of his mind.

She'd been so abrupt, hurriedly dressing and barely meeting his eyes as she mumbled something about showering and changing before they met up with Professor Snape. Could it be she regretted spending the night with him? If she did, her doubts were contagious. Ever since she'd left he was worrying the idea to death.

His father had tried to kill him. Well, specifically, his father under the direction of the Dark Lord had tried to kill him. He felt abandoned, his whole world turned its back on him and no one but Hermione had bothered to even take notice. At his lowest, his enemy was the only one who gave him strength. She had saved his life, and then stood by him when she didn't have to. He didn't for one moment regret spending the night with her…but what now?

All his friends would be wildly scandalized; Pansy would definitely break up with him. Not to mention, Potter and his little redheaded boyfriend freaking out to the nth degree when they discover he and Hermione were together. Actually, that thought made Malfoy smile a little. He'd love to walk up to Potter and Weasley and give them both a nice, vivid account of sleeping with their beloved best friend, including all the places on her lovely body _he_ knew just how to touch and _they_ would never even see. Then, the smile fell away as a terrible realization struck him: what if she wanted to remain friends with those losers? Could he stand seeing Scar-skull hugging _his_ girl?

No! He'd just have to take her away from Hogwarts, and she'll just have to like it. A breath caught in his throat; the sneering expression on his face was just like his father's. And, thinking of his father, he realized another roadblock: how was he going to support Hermione and himself? If he tried to run away with a Mudblood, he was almost certainly going to be cut-off financially. If, he thought bitterly, wishing him dead wasn't already a form of disinheritance.

So, here's how it broke down. The Death Eaters would want his blood, his own father would be helping them, any friends he could turn to for help would laugh in his face, Hermione's friends would sever all connections to her, they would have no allies on either side of the fight in the greatest war in the history of the magical world, and without resources or sympathy they would be shunned everywhere they went.

"Hmm," he muttered. "This could get a little rough."

"You have no idea, son." Draco startled, swinging around from the mirror and facing the stony calm of his father's glare. Lucius Malfoy stood leaning against the bathroom doorway; he curled his lip up in disgust at the horror on his son's face, snarling as he repeated himself:

"You have no idea."


	13. Chapter 13

Draco shrank from his father in the doorway, his palms pressed tight on the cool bathroom tile, supporting his weight on the counter as he leaned back as far as he could. Every shred of his being was poised alert, waiting for his father to strike.

"They train tigers the same way," Lucius had said to him once as a child, right after one of his father's routine thrashings. "From the time the tiger is just a baby, they hit him with the same stick. See, son—when that tiger reaches maturity, it could easily maul and kill its master. But it doesn't, because it still respects the stick that beat him."

His father hadn't actually hit him since he was fifteen, and since Draco's height and weight had reached adult stature, but the memories of those beatings were sharper than fresh paint in Draco's mind.

Now, his father huffed at him irately.

"Come now, Draco! Quit playing at the sink like a woman." He turned from the doorway and walked briskly back into Draco's bedroom, shouting over his shoulder, "We have things to discuss!"

Draco exhaled his held breath once his father's back was at him. His mind whirled; his father could be here to finish the Possession Curse--To kill him! He looked around wildly for a weapon. Standing there in only a towel, with just his razor and toothbrush within grasp, he hardly had the tools to defend himself. He sighed, chin dropping. He turned and followed his father obediently as he always did.

In the main bedroom, Lucius paced fervently as a tiger himself. Draco, however, walked calmly to the foot of his bed, and plopped down defeated. He lowered his eyes, letting his body empty of hope like an overturned bucket. If his father was going to kill him, let him just do it and be done with it.

"Well! What do you have to say for yourself?" His father demanded.

Draco looked up, a question on his face.

"Sir?"

Lucius threw his arms in the air dramatically. He'd practiced this lie over and over for an hour before traveling to Hogwarts, making sure it would seem convincing.

"Draco! How _could_ you? The Master finally decides to test you, and this is how your act!"

"Test?" Draco frowned, confused.

"Are you a Pogwood parrot now, boy? Yes, '_test_'! You're membership into the Death Eaters, fulfilling your destiny…you're bloody future!" His father's normally pale cheeks went red as wine, rage straining his voice into a harsh sotto voce.

Draco met his father's eyes, barely absorbing what he meant.

"I was being…tested?" He whispered.

"HA! What did you think? That the Soundspecter was going to possess you—that _you_ were the Master's chosen assassin?" Lucius tried to make his voice as sarcastic as possible. In fact, that was exactly what Voldemort had intended, but he wanted Draco to believe the opposite.

"You could have been initiated that very night," Lucius infused his voice with disappointment, "I was so proud of you. For once."

Draco was shocked hollow. "You mean—that night in the rookery, the Soundspecter…it was all part of an initiation into the Death Eaters?" His voice rose with every word, his chest beginning to burn with the terrible gravity of his mistake.

Lucius nodded solemnly, filling his false eyes with sympathy while privately he was thrilled his son was taking the bait.

"You were going to stand at my side—my equal and among my brethren at war." Lucius took a step toward his son, really rubbing the salt in Draco's wounds. "I_ thought_ it was what you always wanted."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, wincing with regret. In hindsight, it did make sense! He began to feel a heavy, oppressive guilt pressing on his chest.

"I thought…" He dropped his face into his hands, unable to finish the idea out loud.

"What? That I was trying to…to kill you?" Lucius put his hand on his heart and faked an expression of hurt surprise. "My son! The Dark Lord was just implying how I would sacrifice you for the cause like I would sacrifice my own life. It was an expression of commitment, you insipient little lizard! You were supposed to say you'd sacrifice the same for our cause. Draco! How could you think me really capable of such a gruesome, terrible…" he stopped.

Draco looked back up from his hands at his father's theatrical pause.

"What am I saying? I know why you doubted me." His father looked away, as if he was disgusted. "It was _her_, wasn't it?"

Draco felt his heart sink further.

"Hermio…"

"Shhzz! Don't even speak her indecent name in my presence!"

"But...I thought she'd saved my life…"

"From what? All of your dreams and aspirations? You're destiny as a Malfoy that spans hundreds of years?" Lucius' voice squeaked dangerously, and Draco wished his bed would burst open and swallow him.

"I didn't know…" he sank down, terrified.

Lucius laughed unexpectedly. Draco watched him in frightened surprise.

"My Merlin! I didn't realize I'd raised such a fool!" Lucius shook his head, his tossed hair shimmering like successive silver threads.

Draco turned his chin quizzically.

"Did you never stop to think on it, son? How convenient it was she arrived 'to save you' right at that very moment? You weren't suspicious that one of your greatest enemies was being so damn helpful?" Lucius swallowed hard, nervous. It was vital to his plan that Draco see his little wandwench as just a seductive saboteur. He had to coerce his son to bring the girl to Lord Voldemort.

"I…" Draco remembered his desperation in the rookery, "I didn't think I had anyone to turn to."

"Ahhh, my son," Lucius voice dripped sweet with poison, "How _terrible _for her to feed on your loneliness—to use your weakness against you!"

"No! No…she really _was_ the only one who cared…"

"My dearest boy! Let's be honest! Had you not felt betrayed by me, do you think you would have been as susceptible to her tricks? Would you have even spoken to her if you thought you could come to me?"

Draco considered that. He had to admit, he wouldn't have reached out to her to begin with if he'd had any other options. But! No! That was all before—before he got to know her! Now he knew he could trust Hermione…couldn't he?

"I can see your dilemma, Draco." His father feigned compassion. "You felt abandoned by me, betrayed by your whole world...who else but the enemy could be your ally? We must learn from this, son—learn how cunning the enemy will be in the coming wars, how deep they can go to cut you down when you're lowest."

Draco nodded slowly, beginning to agree with the reason in his father's attitude. But, deep in his heart, another truth stirred. He had held her in his arms, let her in deeper than he'd ever let anyone, including his father or his dreams of being a Death Eater. Even if she'd just been using him, he still felt tenderer for her than anyone else he'd ever known.

Lucius read his expression. "I know, Draco. I know that you…slept with her," it was impossible to hide the revulsion in his voice. "That's okay. There's nothing wrong with shagging a wench or two, even a shameful little whore of Potter's. I want you to know I forgive you. We can put it behind us,"

Draco noticed excitement swelling in his father's tone. "We have another chance, son! The Dark Lord has decided to put you to another test!"

Lucius came and sat next to his son on the bed, breathless with exhilaration and hoping his son would fully accept his lies and bring his plan into action.

"The Dark Lord commanded that I bring you before him for a second attempt at his favor. All you have to do is convince the girl to come meet us at the old road head in the Forest. Our Master will do the rest."

"The girl…you mean Hermione?" Draco's eyes went wide with horror.

"I know this will be difficult," Lucius forced himself to sound sympathetic. "But you have to understand…for her knowledge, she'll die either way. Our Master will see to that. _This_ way, you get to preserve your future standing…You will win honor in the highest ranks of the coming war,"

"By killing Hermione?" The idea was sickening, unfathomable.

"Don't be so dramatic…This is your future, son! Everything you've worked for. It's too much to risk on some girl" Lucius noticed the pain on Draco's face, and decided to switch tactics.

"You don't think your infatuation could really last, do you?" He smiled cruelly. "That's a little naïve, wouldn't you say? Can it withstand how much her friends despise you? Or, how much your friends hate her? Or, the breaking of a hundred years of Malfoy tradition?"

The last flickering of hope dimmed from Draco's eyes. It was everything he'd feared spoken aloud. His father was right; they were doomed from the start. It was over.

Draco lifted himself up with a final resolution, no emotion on his face or in his voice.

"As you wish, father. I'll bring her."


	14. Chapter 14

This time, Hermione didn't pause before Severus Snape's office door. She felt eager and refreshed from her shower, wearing an old burgundy sweater her mother made, her long hair falling around her shoulders in a fresh, curly mess. She only had to wait a moment; the professor answered on the second knock.

"Granger! Good! Where's Malfoy?" He was just as ill-tempered as usual, but "Granger! Good!" was the most cordial greeting Snape had ever given her.

"I, uh," she realized belatedly that she wasn't prepared for that question. She reddened and tensed, acute embarrassment flooding through her. She had to hide what happened last night, no matter what.

"Granger," Snape was clearly irate. "I gave you simple orders that you two were to stay in sight of one another at all times…."

"Yes, sir…I know," Hermione struggled hard for composure. "I only left him an hour ago so that we may both shower and dress for the day. We were to meet back here."

Snape's brow went up, as if he read something in her voice. His tone softened considerably.

"Ms. Granger, are you quite well?" He asked unexpectedly.

She shifted nervously. "Well, sir? Yes, Professor, I'm fine."

Snape shook his head, as if he was dismissing a theory.

"On to it, then. It is against my better judgment to provide you with this information, as it seems to me to be absolutely none of your business,"

Hermione nodded. This was more like the Professor Snape she knew.  
"However, Headmaster Dumbledore thought it may be wise to impart this to you for your protection. You remember, I hope, when I mentioned the Possession Curse to you?"

"Yes, I do. The night we were walking back from the rookery."

Snape simpered at her as if she was rudely interrupting with the obvious. "You are so very quick, Ms. Granger. As I was _saying_, there had been rumors among the darker corners of the Ministry as to a plot to use the curse to strategically place assassins. Until the unfortunate Ms. Tuttle, these whisperings were given little notice since the Possession Curse was widely thought to be impossible to actually conjure."

The professor's eyes narrowed maniacally, and Hermione almost detected a hint of excitement and glee in his voice. "The Dark Lord, it seems, has grown powerful indeed."

"The assassin, Ms. Tuttle's son, can he still be saved?"

Snape shook his head briskly, bare of any remorse. "No, of course not. Once the monster inside leaves him, the boy will be dead as a corn husk."  
Hermione's heart fell.

"The Ministry is beginning to spread news how to avert the spell, how to look for signs of possessed persons, and the like."

"How is the spell prevented, Professor?"

Much like any malign spell, the destructive power of the Possession Curse can be put off by the creative powers of warm thoughts."

"Like love?"

Snape bristled, "Well! Aren't _we_ just as sharp as a bag full of wet faeries! It's discouraging to think you're top in your class, Granger. Yes, I meant 'like love'. You are most vulnerable to the curse when you are brooding on gloomier topics, if you are sad or distressed in some way,"

Hermione bit her lip, thinking on that. She wondered what Draco had been upset about that night in the rookery. There was a lot she didn't know about him, she realized. Coldness gripped her, and she remembered how violently he'd reacted when she mentioned his father and the Death Eaters trying to kill him. She had no idea what it would be like to live with that type of fear.

"This is why," and Snape raised his voice for emphasis, "I instructed you and Mr. Malfoy to stay near one another. Proximity to other people makes it hard for the Soundspecter to attack you."

Hermione blushed, hoping the Professor wouldn't pick up on how seriously they'd taken his interpretation of "proximity."

To worsen her struggle for normalcy even more, someone knocked at the door. Snape screamed "Enter!" and Draco quietly slipped into the room. He was dressed very well, with crisp and stylish green Christmas cashmere, and his hair slicked back neatly. She stirred as he closed the distance to the desk; she preferred it when he looked casual and less severe.

The second he stood beside her, she knew something was wrong. His eyes were dull, and his chest heaved with every breath. She looked at him questioningly, but he did not meet her gaze.

"Mr. Malfoy! Finally you join…" Snape paused, noticing the pale, stricken expression on Draco's face. "What is wrong _now_?"

"Nothing, sir. It just was a long night."

Hermione frowned. She realized he probably meant to just put off the Professor's question, but she found herself offended by the disparaging remark.

"Well, then. I'll continue." He eyeballed Hermione. "It's up to _you_ to inform him of what he's missed."

"Yes, sir," she agreed.

"Since Mr. Malfoy is clearly on the enemy's radar," Snape cleared his throat, hastily glossing over how counterintuitive that concept is, "Dumbledore will want someone near him at all times. Now, this is a bit awkward, because we don't want to incite mass panic in our student body. I want you to be discrete, but make sure you stay near crowds."

Hermione cocked her head, not seeing where she fit in.

"Granger, this goes for you, too. It may very well be that the enemy is familiar enough with you," Snape grimaced in disgust, "Through _Mr. Potter_ and your escapades, no doubt—that they will have recognized you when you interfered in the spell."

Hermione noticed in her periphery that Draco lowered his head, looking strangely saddened.

"But, Professor," she broke in, "How would they recognize me when they weren't even in the rookery?"

Snape sighed. "The Soundspecter opens a gate of sorts between two places. It's a poor visual, all you can see is light and shadows. Nevertheless, Dumbledore believes that it may be easy for the Dark Lord to recognize you."

Beside her, Draco made a small noise, a tiny choked whimper. Professor Snape didn't notice, and continued.

"Your life may be in serious danger as well, Ms. Granger. You must take extreme caution."

A heaviness rested in the air, a stifling which urged Hermione to run to the window and throw it open. She looked at Draco, who was staring at the ground mutely.

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I have much to attend to. Remember to _mark my words--_ this time."

"Yes, sir." She said. Draco only nodded.

The moment they exited the office and Snape slammed the door behind them, Hermione swung around to stop Draco.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

Draco sighed. His father had made him practice this several times, but his tongue cracked dry now that he tried to use it, a foreign body rejected by his mouth.

"I had another dream," he lied.

She immediately put her hand on his elbow empathetically. "What happened?"

The sincerity in her voice and glowing incorruptible on her face made his stomach sour. He wanted to turn and retch, to call off the whole thing. However, deep within him, he had made a decision—and he was going to see it through. For once, his weakness was not going to get in his way.

"I…I don't have time to explain the whole thing. We have to go somewhere. I need you to come with me." His mouth filled with rancid cotton as he spoke. "You…you have to trust me."

With the pure generosity of her nature, and goodness that expanded beyond doubt, she nodded.

"Of course. Let's go."


	15. Chapter 15

The path was decayed, winding jaggedly through the foreboding wood like some giant claw mark. Draco and Hermione had to watch their footing, as the trail spotted in and out of existence, almost purposely trying to get them off-track.

Hermione had started their journey brimming with questions, but soon fell to frustrated silence when she realized that Draco wasn't going to give her any direct answers. She decided that the dream was just too disturbing for Malfoy to openly discuss.

"_What happened?"_

_"It's…too terrible,"_

_"Why is it so urgent we find this place?"_

_"We just have to get there,"_

_"Where is it?"_

_"You'll see."_

The woods bore down on them, seeming to grow deeper and darker with every step. Finally, the trees opened into a small circular valley, and an ancient crossroads bathed in moonlight. Hermione had never seen this place before, but the air here was still and portentous, thick with the intent of harm.

"Where are we, Draco?" She whispered.

"This place has no name…none that's remembered, anyway. It an old road head." There was a deep sorrow in his voice as he spoke, almost bitterness.

At the meetings of the roads were three enormous stone shrines. The large, flat tables rose vertically from the ground like gigantic gravestones. The worn gray surfaces veined and crawled with black vines, making them seem impossibly old, half-swallowed by the woods. As they neared the middle of the clearing, Hermione could see that the ground before the stones was stained dark, and there was a strange, faint smell like rotting meat.

Draco stopped before the stones, staring at the ground. Hermione sighed loudly, trying to sound brave and encouraging, as she sidled up next to him.

"So, what are we supposed to do now?"

Draco lifted his face to meet her question, and she drew in her breath sharply. His eyes were spread wide and wet, looking at her hungrily. He was smiling savagely at her, sucking at his teeth with his tongue. She frowned at the strange display, taking a step backwards tentatively.

"Draco?" She asked, unsure.

He didn't answer, but snapped out his hand and seized her by the wrist. One of his eyelids twitched madly, and he deepened his grin.

"Draco! Stop it—this isn't funny!"

He still didn't respond, twisting her wrist hard enough that her knees buckled with the pain. He swung her around, thrusting her back against the stone and knocking the wind out of her. Adrenaline pounded in her ears as she gasped for breath.

"What's _with _you and throwing me into walls?" He yelled, mimicking her voice with high-pitched sarcasm. He pulled his wand out of his cloak with his free hand and pointed it at the vines.

"_Torquere!_" He shouted in a clear voice. The plants sprung from the stone and began to tangle and coil around Hermione's waist and wrists like snakes, pulling her flat against the shrine and lifting her until her feet were dangling.

She struggled violently against the ivy, but it was too strong and overpowered her, wrenching her hands and legs spread-eagle. As she wriggled and fought, Draco stepped back from the altar, crossing his arms and waiting patiently.

"What are you doing?" She screamed. "Help me!" She stopped fighting the vines, and looked at Draco desperately. She didn't understand. Why was he doing this?  
Her insides turned to stone at what she saw next.

Behind Draco to his right and left, six black-robed figures slowly moved into view. Their faces were in shadow, but she knew them for what they were. They stood flanking Draco, silent and waiting. Finally, drifting smoothly out of the darkness of the trees, the tall form of the Dark Lord glided into view. Hermione's mind clouded with unnamable fear.

"Draco…" she whispered.

Draco looked directly in her eyes, and smiled.

Her heart splintered, shattering into a thousand horror-struck little pieces as she realized her mistake.

She'd followed him right into their trap.

"Welcome! Welcome, Hermione! It is such a pleasure, isn't it?" Voldemort moved toward the altar joyously like he was waltzing with an invisible partner. When he'd made his way to her, he reached out and wiggled his fingers across her cheek delicately.

"You've grown into a pretty witch, dear one, I must say!" She rolled her neck as far from his touch as she could, and he chuckled lightly. "Ah! Draco! How could you! You must not leave your special guest looking so lonely at our gathering this fine evening."

All around her, the stone and vine began to crawl with life. Insects oozed from every greasy corner, scurrying to swarm all around her. A cockroach crept across her cheek exactly where the Dark Lord's fingers had been. Spiders and maggots and centipedes dripped from her hair and clothes, and she cringed and squirmed trying to shake them away.

"There now. Pretty company for a pretty girl," Voldemort smiled, turning his back on her.

Hermione tried to ignore the bugs slithering against her skin, and flexed her fingers as far as she could, trying secretly to lift her coat pocket to access her wand.

"Draco? I don't think your darling will be needing her wand tonight," The Dark Lord waved his hand Draco's direction, his voice filled with mockery. "Not with such a big, strong protector like you to save her!"

In the ranks of Death Eaters there were a few low grunts like laughter. Draco recognized one voice as his father's, and he winced. He had to stay strong…

Hermione watched Draco walk toward her in the twilight, his face set with unrecognizable determination. Within her, her blood boiled with hurt masquerading rage, hating him with every fiber for his treachery, and hating herself with every fiber for her folly.

Suspended by the vines, Hermione was nearly eye-level with Draco. He whispered a harsh word, and the insects scattered. He approached her cautiously. Hermione's shoulders rose and fell steadily, her pupils dilated huge and black as her eyes flicked back and forth, watching him like a dangerous, caged animal.

With cat-like legerity, Draco lunged at her and snatched her wand from her pocket, jumping back as she surged with all her might against her bonds trying to reach it when he pulled it from her coat.

"_Laqueus!"_ He shouted, and her wand rose high into the air, surrounded by a thick, viscous substance that trapped it from her call.

"No!" Hermione screeched, and started to struggle again.

This time, Draco approached her leisurely, like they were strolling together in a park.

"What is wrong, beautiful?"

Hermione lifted her chin and spit at him, spraying his crisp, green sweater. Draco's upper lip curled in disgust, and he charged at her, pressing his palms on the stone beside her ears and roughly pinning her further with one thigh jammed between her legs.

This time, she didn't feel that thrill of electricity at his touch. She felt a crushing shame.

"Stop!" She screamed helplessly.

Draco titled his head back from her face, wanting to make sure the Dark Lord could hear every word he said.

"Oh, darling—don't be shy! We both know how you _like _it."

"You miserable son of a bitch," she hissed.

"Cheeky, cheeky!" He laughed out loud. "I like it when you talk dirty."

He let his one hand trace her collar bone, moving his fingertips down slowly against the heaving and seizing of her torso until he reached the bottom edge of her sweater. He lifted it gently, reaching under to touch her soft, bare skin. His nails raked at her flat stomach, scratching her just enough to cause a little whimper to escape her clenched teeth.

"Now, you're a fan of education, aren't you Granger?" He tapped at her bellybutton. "Well, here's a lesson for you! Did you know we are standing on hallowed ground? It's a forgotten age, so long ago—but magicians once came here to worship," his cheery voice grated in her ears. "And the wicked ones came to _sacrifice_."

Hermione moaned, shaking her head and trying to focus on something else.

"Do you know what they'd do?" He jabbed at her stomach rhythmically with his pointer finger. "They'd cut a little hole right here—a tiny, deep little hole. It wouldn't even hurt that much!"

His fist suddenly thrust into her middle, knocking the wind out of her and doubling her over as far as Draco and the bonds would allow. She coughed, choking on her breath.

"But then," he growled low at her, "they would pull just a bit of your insides out—just a little peek for any animals that may be curious."

Her head lolled, mind blurring with terror such that she wondered if she'd faint.

"Then they'd leave you here…leave you to be eviscerated by scavengers; to watch them eat you."

He put his mouth at her cheek, biting her lightly and bearing his teeth.

"Is that what I should do, you think? For your audacity; assuming _I _would actually have feelings for a dirty, revolting mudblood? Should I leave you to just bleed down to your pretty little feet?"

"Draco?" she whispered hoarsely

"Yes darling?"

"I hope Harry kills you _slow_."

"Ah Yes! Speaking of which!" He pulled his hand from under her shirt and let it rest on her hip, massaging her gingerly. "Where is your Potter now, Granger? Huh? Will he save you?" He gestured to the surrounding blackness with a wide swoop of his free arm. Again, she heard some laughter in the on-lookers. Then, he cupped the hand around his mouth,

"Heeeeeeelllllp!" He screamed. "Harry Potter! Your little pet is about to be gutted! Help her!" The black void swallowed his screaming, the only answer a harsh and heavy silence.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. It was true. There was no one who knew where she was, no one who could help her. She was smart enough to rationalize that—smart enough to know she was about to die tonight.

She grit her teeth; there was no way the enemy was going to see her cry.


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione was exhausted. The vinery had cut deep gashes in her wrists and ankles where her struggles had rubbed the skin raw. Her voice was hoarse from calling for help, her lips parched and cracked. Limp and despairing, she hung her head and waited for some version of oblivion.

For the last several hours, The Dark Lord and his flock had left her alone while engaging in a very complicated ritual preparation. Had Hermione been in any different a circumstance, she might have been awed by their staggering skill.

The Death Eaters had carefully arranged a pile of spell ingredients beside her on the ground, chanting and systematically referencing her with different items. They totally ignored her otherwise, every one being extremely focused on his particular task. Over and again, they'd gathered in a circle, called to each of the four winds, cut themselves with sacrificial knives, and spoken in strange tongues. She'd never seen this type of magic; she never even knew magic like this existed.

At one lucid moment, she remembered what Professor Snape had said about the Possession Curse. It was thought to be impossible to conjure, but the Dark Lord somehow had figured out how to cast the spell. That must be what they were preparing for now, she realized. The thought stuck her like a knife twist; they were going to make her one of their assassins! Her chest ached—Harry! Ron! Voldemort would make her kill them!

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Hermione wasn't the only one trying to carefully assess the Dark Lord's plans. Another pair of eyes watched intently as the Death Eaters prepared their ritual. Every spot on his body was stricken alert, and only the greatest restraint held him back from what his heart wanted to do. It had to be the right moment...

The Dark Lord sauntered once again up to Hermione, to loom over her and gloat.

"There really isn't any reason to fret, my dear," Voldemort proclaimed in his smoothest voice. The busy Death Eaters quieted suddenly, as if it were some secret cue. "I believe in seeing the cauldron half-full, not half-empty!" Some of the followers snickered. "You can take comfort in knowing that you will be with your friends before the end." A hideous smile crawled across the Dark Lord's face, "Of course, _you_ will be the cause of that end…."

Hermione opened her mouth, and snapped it shut again. There was nothing worth saying; they didn't deserve her insults.

The Death Eaters were sniggering and gathering around in a formal circle. They were ready to begin, she realized. There was an eagerness in their mannerism, thirst for the kill. The best she could do is to hope the possession fails; if she is killed during the ritual, at least Harry and Ron are safe.

"Let us prepare our guest!" Voldemort called, and there was an inaudible surge of excitement from the Death Eaters, who closed in their circle. Three unidentifiable figures pulled shiny blades from their cloaks; the knives caught the moonlight and glinted menacingly. These three approached her with slow, purposeful steps. Her attention was so keen on those glittering, sharp daggers, she hardly registered what the Dark Lord said.

"Our lovely here is not a willing participant, so we give three openings for Its entrance,"

The first Death Eater took two quick steps to Hermione, and before she could even react, brought his knife up and sliced a deep cut in the middle of her forehead. Her mouth went wide with the sudden pain and she felt a wetness trickle down to sting her eyes and blur her vision, dripping to her cheeks as bloody tears.

"Unus!" the Dark Lord cried out, and then whispered to the surrounding darkness of the wood.

She couldn't see clearly with the blood in her eyes, so she blinked desperately, shaking her head to see. When her vision cleared, she saw the second Death Eater standing before her. This time she struggled, but he didn't just slash at her as the first had. He reached at her with his bare hand to slowly lift her sweater, tickling the skin on her belly with his knuckles as he exposed her belly button. Just as fast as the first had cut her, his wrist flicked in and back, stabbing her shallowly directly in the navel. This hurt more than the first cut had and she let out a surprised yelp, doubling over as far as the vines allowed.

"Duo!" Voldemort shouted, hollering out a string of complicated spell speak.

Hermione no longer had the will to fight. She hung limp against her bonds, so afraid and her mind so clouded with pain that she didn't even notice the last Death Eater approach. A low chanting began among the ranks of Death Eaters, an eerie, persistent buzzing that made Hermione feel even sicker. The third Death Eater whispered to the vines at her left wrist, which sprouted and split into smaller shoots. The sprouts wound and threaded themselves into her fingers, spreading her hand with painful force.

With a quick movement, the knife moved in and slashed vertically, cutting across her open palm. She still hung limp, hardly even jumping at the intense pain, she was so tired and shocked and defeated. The chanting continued, rising in intensity as the Dark Lord made ready to give his final shout, and finish the curse.

But, before Voldemort's voice could ring out, one of the members of the circle stepped quickly to the center, raising his arms and screaming at the top of his capacity,

"I can't live with my shame!"

The chanting broke, and a momentary silence flooded over everyone. Even Hermione attempted the barest lift of her head. The Dark Lord turned from facing the woods to stare down the troublemaker. When his eyes fell upon Draco Malfoy, they were as cold and hard as steel hooks.

"You dare interrupt my casting, boy?"

"Oh! I know, Darkest Master. It's just that…I can't live with myself to let it continue without what I must say."

Voldemort cocked his chin slightly to the side with half-bored, half-dangerous curiosity. He raised his wand to point it at Draco.

This broke the astonishment of Lucius Malfoy, who'd been watching from his place in the circle with mute horror at his son's outburst.

"My Lord! He is an ignorant, petty fool who doesn't deserve your audience!" He rushed in and grabbed at Draco's elbow roughly. "You imbecile! What are you doing?" His father hissed at him, pulling him violently back from the circle's center. Draco struggled from his father's grasp, running up to the Dark Lord and speaking once again.

"I _am_ a fool! I don't deserve to be present with such greatness!" He fell to his knees before Voldemort and threw his arms up against his dark robes beseechingly. "I failed your testing, my Lord! I could have had the honor even of being part of the plot kill Potter, but I ruined your plans."

Voldemort gave a mean little smile. "I can't argue with your logic."

"I must set it right, Master!"

"Ha!" The Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed. "All of this to pledge yourself as a follower, boy?" Voldemort waved his hand over Draco dismissively. "You shall become a Death Eater as your father before you. You've at least proven your wretched self in bringing the girl…"

"I will _not_ become a Death Eater," Draco stated plainly. A gasp of surprise went through the watching followers, loudest of which came from Lucius. The Dark Lord was no longer amused. He looked down on the boy kneeling before him like a predator noticing a meal.

"What did you say," the Dark Lord asked softly.

"I said I won't be a Death Eater, my Lord." Draco kept his head bowed away from Voldemort, but his could feel the murderous intentions rising in the Dark Lord. He was terrified, but his icy eyes flashed shrewdly. He knew evil men and evil lusts, and he knew the arrogance of pure power was too big a temptation for the Dark Lord to ignore. Draco spoke again before he could raise his wand, pouring as much genuine regret in his voice as possible.

"It's not good enough, you see?"

The wand lowered a little.

"What do you mean," Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

"I wish to rectify the wrong…I wish to make a bargain." Draco took a long breath, holding it a moment as he listened for Voldemort's reaction.

Voldemort was silent a long while, then hissed slowly.

"Go on,"

"I wish an exchange, a chance to hatch my own evil plan for your glory. For the chance, I will give in _servus pactum_."

Lucius Malfoy jumped forward, shouting.

"No, Draco!" He wrenched his son away from Voldemort's feet and hit him square across the jaw. "You little worm! You will not dishonor my family!"

As Draco reeled with the sudden pain and stumbled from his father, the Dark Lord started to laugh at the desperate display. Draco held his jaw and faced the Dark Lord again, ignoring his father's string of curses.

"_Servus pactum_," he repeated steadily, "Your slave at your whim and will, no better than a house elf. My being and body yours, as is all who follow in my line."

Draco's stomach turned as he said his plan out loud, but Voldemort took the bait, and was openly elated. Draco had been right, he couldn't resist the chance at such power over a life.

"So, Lucius! Your son wishes to be my House Elf!" Several Death Eaters out right laughed. The mental picture of a proud Malfoy in rags slaving about the house was ridiculous.

"My Most Gracious Master," Lucius began. "The boy is weakminded, he'd be no use to you in such a capacity…"

"On the contrary, you don't give your son enough credit!"

Lucius looked desperate, clearly wavering from murderous fury to utter despair.

"Most Understanding Master," he started again.

"Enough!" Voldemort silenced Lucius harshly. To Draco, he said, "I must say your offer is intriguing. My followers bind themselves to my purpose with their pledges, not to my will. They have scattered and failed me before to save their own skins. Cowards!" A wave of fear passed through the Death Eaters, who shrank from their Master's acidic anger. "In my service, you would not have the luxury of your own will, Mr. Draco Malfoy."

"I understand what I offer, Lord."

Voldemort clicked his tongue sarcastically. "And what is the price for such a gift of loyalty? What will be my end of the bargain?"

Draco turned his regard to Harmione, smiling darkly.

Hermione had watched Draco's outburst through the haze of pain and exhaustion, feeling only the most superficial relief. A good portion of her had been resigned and ready to welcome death. Putting off the end was just more torture. Still, think, Hermione! Snap out of it! There was something about what Draco was doing…

"I want _her._" Draco said softly, pointing at Hermione.

Lucius' eyes sharpened. So, that was it.

As Draco approached her once again, Hermione instinctively tried press her kneecaps together, turning her head away—anything to hold him as far away as possible.

Draco's stomach turned to see her stricken face. He leaned in and kissed her hard, bruising her mouth against any attempt at refusal. She moaned and wiggled, trying to get away from him. As he pulled away, he moved his mouth to brush her earlobe, whispering just for her to hear.

"You are not alone."

Hermione was too disoriented, too afraid to understand him clearly. Her mind whirled. What did he mean?

Draco grabbed her chin before she could reason his intentions, forcefully turning her cheek to him and crudely licking it like a puppy.

"I want her Potter to know what I did to her," he announced to the watchers. "She won't be able to hide or deny that she was mine. It will weaken him in the knowing of it, to see her everyday and know she betrayed him will crush his spirit."

He pulled away then from the altar and Hermione, looking directly into Lord Voldemort's cold eyes.

"I will destroy Potter's faith in those closest to him. It was such unconditional love and trust that rebelled against your might in the first place, Master, when his parents stood against you. I will annihilate his faith in his allies. I will make him suffer for all he's done to me." Draco lowered his chin with the ugly promise. "Then, I will kill him."

"No!" Hermione screamed, tearing against her bonds with renewed strength. Draco's plan to use her to dishearten Harry almost hurt her worse than directly killing him. She was so ashamed of her betrayal, it would be better to die than face it. But, what had he meant, saying she wasn't alone? She looked eagerly to the Dark Lord for his answer.

"You pose a cruel proposition, Malfoy."

Lucius stepped tentatively toward his Master once again, hoping to make his case. Before he could even speak, Voldemort's hand moved swiftly to shush him.

"Your bargain is acceptable." He said simply, suddenly. Lucius Malfoy hung his head in his hands in unconcealed rage and grief. Draco sighed resolutely, his shoulders set and his jaw tight.

"Come here." Draco folded his hands before him, walking steadily to his new Master. "You come to me as Draco Malfoy, person of free will." The Dark Lord held out his hand, which began to glow blood red with a spelled light. "But, shake my hand and seal you promise and you will have no name but Slave. You will no longer have a life or identity of your own. In return, I spare this girl and you may do with her as you wish."

With the slow steps of destiny, Draco stepped forward and put his hand in his Master's. Voldemort loomed over him, their clasped hands glowing bright red.

"In _servus pactum_." Voldemort said.

"In _servus pactum_" Draco repeated, sealing his fate and his doom. As his Lord let go of his hand and moved away from him, Draco glanced quickly up to Hermione, locking his gaze into hers and hoping she could feel his thoughts. She had tears in her eyes. She finally understood what he was doing.

"Well!First, Slave, I will punish your insolence for interrupting the casting of my curse. 50 lashes with poison thistle vines! Now!" The Death Eaters sprang forward, all but Lucius who stood numb with his shame.

Hermione felt hands all over her as the Death Eaters rushed to her, hissing at the vinery and tearing her from the stone table. She was thrown roughly to the ground; her limbs were so abused she couldn't catch her own falling and she sprawled out on the hard forest floor, spitting and choking on the dirt.

Behind her, the Death Eaters grabbed Draco, thrusting him against the stone altar face first and bloodying his nose. They systematically tore his clothes from his body, laughing maniacally and grunting like excited animals. When Hermione finally forced her weak body to all fours, she crawled away from them. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she turned back, and beheld Draco tied naked and shivering on the marble slab. Stuck with horror, she watched as the Death Eater conjured thistle whips and beat him simultaneously, not even counting the lashes. From the distance, it looked like red paint stripes puckered and crisscrossed on his smooth skin. The poison in the vines coagulated the blood, making each wound burble with thick, red ooze. The bubbling poison tore deeper than the thistle stroke, setting in a lasting and excruciating pain. He endured the assault silently at first, but as their relentless whipping continued, he let out a terrible, low moan. He hung limply from the vines as she had, his strength abandoned in the incredible agony.

She almost cried out, almost begged them to stop. But, she didn't. She forced herself to hold her tongue, wincing with his beating as though she could feel it herself. He'd saved her, she realized, and not just for now. Voldemort could not go back on his sworn bargain, not when it was bound by such a powerful magic. He could never harm her as long as Draco was his personal slave. Her enemy had given up everything to save her life.

It seemed an eternity, that lashing. When they were done, Draco's back looked like raw meat, carved and pulverized in bloody slashes. As the vines released him, he crumpled straight to the ground, unconscious. The Dark Lord sauntered happily to him and patted him on the head like a dog.

"Good boy! There, there. Wake up!" He slapped Draco's cheeks, reviving him. Draco sputtered awake, vomiting blood and squirming with pain.

"Up! Up, Slave!" Voldemort kicked Draco sharply in the ribs, delighted when his boot came away bloody. The Dark Lord bent and picked up Draco's torn, dirty undershirt and his frayed boxers from the pile of clothes the Death Eaters had pulled from his body.

"These rags will be your wardrobe! Don't you have a kind Master?" He delivered another kick to the side to go with the mockery.

"Yes…Thank you…sir." Draco struggled to respond through spitting blood.

"Take away your spoils, then! Take Potter's little whore home to do her worse! And don't dawdle!" The Dark Lord gave him another kick, knocking Draco back to the ground even though he'd been attempting to stand. "Now! Death Eaters, my loyal flock! Come and gather with your humble lord. The events of this night have given me an idea! Come!" The Death Eaters and their Master moved away from the clearing into the deep darkness of the forest, their blackness lost with the total blackness.

Hermione watched them move away until she could no longer hear or see any sign of them. Then, she crawled to Draco's side as fast as her body could go.

"Draco?" she called gently. She cradled his head in her lap as she had that first night in the rookery. He moaned softly, trying to speak. She patted and hushed him soothingly, fighting her own tears to comfort him.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I know what you did for me. You saved me."

Draco winced, pulling his shaking hand up with great effort to touch her cheek. He opened his mouth, gasping against sorrow to tell her everything he wanted her to know.

"You saved me first," was all he managed to get out.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been weeks since Draco's departure, but Hermione was as heartsick as the first day. He had only stayed a single night with her after struggling back to Hogwarts from the forest, and had left her early the next morning without even saying goodbye. Harry and Ron had returned from holiday brimming with questions about the rumored Possession Curse being cast from Hogwarts. She'd answered their questions with indolent short summaries, leaving out the relationship between herself and Malfoy for the most part. Some of the most momentous occurrences of her young existence, and she'd not peeped a word about it to her two best friends. She felt infused with a longing, a loneliness that she suspected was permanent and incurable.

She rubbed at the pink scab on her forehead, an unconscious habit she'd picked up lately. The wound was almost totally healed, but, like Harry, she would always carry the scar. She was humbled by the comparison. To think! She used to see Harry's scar as such a romantic notion, as some mark of sacrifice and love and pain. She'd always secretly envied him a little, for being so famous for his loss, for his parents' heroics. Only now did she understand. Losing someone you cared for wasn't glorious adventure or timeless romantics. It was a right shit, is what it was. A hole. All it did was hurt.

She stood alone now in the rookery, hair blowing in a chilled breeze high in the tower of owls where she and Malfoy had first started this strange adventure. Around her swooped and dove a fracas of owl industry: the comings and goings of everyday messages and everyday life. They screeched and whooped, flapped and landed, glided and soared busily on a bright winter's day.

But, in all that movement, Hermione stood still. After what had happened between her and Draco, she wasn't quite sure where to start, how to go on.

In the thick sunlight, a white curl glinted in the corner of her vision, and she turned only a second before an owl's talon caught her left cheek. Her palm went up in defense and surprise.

"What are you doing, you crazy overstuffed pigeon!"

The creamy speckled owl landed on a perch barely a foot from her, squeaking with aggravation and impatience. The head turned toward her, pointing its jagged eyebrow tufts at her like an angry old wizard. She hadn't noticed when it nearly collided with her, but now she could clearly see the message clipped in its sharp beak.

"For me?"

The owl blinked, dropping the message on the ground and flexing its powerful wings, taking off without a further caring notion.

Hermione bent and recovered the letter. On its cover, it said:

_To my enemy_

She smiled, elation inflating her like a balloon. In their world filled with enemies, there was one for certain she now recognized as friend and ally…this had to be from _him!_ She quickly broke the wax seal, hands shaking with anticipation.

She read eagerly, her long eyelashes fluttering as she internalized the brief message, memorized the words. A tender satisfaction swelled within her, and she stood up once again in that cold rookery. This time, she felt renewed with strength. She could fight still, she could keep going.

Hermione pulled her wand from her robes, moving her wrist in slow circles and muttering some careful words at the letter in her hands. The paper stirred, moving tentatively with the wind from her hands. Higher and higher it rose, scaling stone walls to the conical tip of the rookery where it hovered, dancing and floating. Hermione whispered one more spell before she turned to go down the steps, a free smile on her pretty lips.

High in the rookery, with no one to witness it, the little letter burst into a wizard's flame. Before it was lost forever, the sunlight glinted and caught the golden ink of its message:

_You are not alone._


End file.
